


Two For the Price of One

by Lee Normandeau (Miri_Thompson)



Series: Lead the Way [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant through Season 11, Canon Divergent after Season 11 (probably), Casifer, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Pre-Samifer, Samifer - Freeform, pre-destiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 37,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7006744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri_Thompson/pseuds/Lee%20Normandeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even broken and battered, Lucifer has his moments. Saving Sam from a gunshot wound is one of them. But now the Morning Star has a choice to make. Remain in heaven and keep away from earth forever . . . or learn to live as a human by sharing Castiel's vessel and taking the Winchesters for his guide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Thearegirl7299 for the beta! All mistakes are mine.

Something rips at me. Some kind of spell or warding. There’s the stench of blood, a searing pain, and—Dad help me. Some idiot mud monkey is trying to expel angels. A second ago I was vaguely aware of Castiel’s grace. Now it’s gone.

I’m still here, though. Maybe there’s not enough left of me to expel.

Wait, where is here? The Bunker. I’m almost sure that I’m still in the Bunker. Ninety percent.

Sam is talking. And some woman is talking back. She sounds English and—fuck, that’s a gunshot! How am I even aware of it? How am I aware of anything?

I remember my Auntie Dearest yanking me out of Castiel’s vessel and scrambling me into a million pieces. But there must be some lingering piece of my consciousness here in the Bunker. Because I heard that gun go off and . . . now I can hear Sam’s labored breaths.

Is there some kind of adrenaline for angelic grace? If so, Daddy-O must have just jacked me up on it. That’s the only way to explain how I pull myself together, shield Sam and flood the Bunker with my presence.

Shoot one of my apes, will you? Welcome to the full glory of the Morning Star.

 

~~*~~

 

“You saved Sam.” It’s not a question. There’s a note of surprise in my Father’s voice, but He’s making it sound like a done deed.

“Did I?” I don’t open my eyes. I’m not in a vessel right now. I’m not even strong enough to retain my true form. I’m still sort of . . . scattered. Scattered and scrambled and burned out and amazed that I’m not dead. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Yes. You did. I just don’t know how you managed it—not in the state you were in.”

“Neither do I. Glad he’s all right, though. I mean, I can appreciate the desire to shoot either Winchester. Or both. But Sam . . . Sam belongs to me.”

“Ah, Sam is not actually your property. But I am still grateful for your actions.”

Whatever. “The intruder. She’s dead?”

“She is. There was no way for her to withstand the true form of an archangel. But—” My Father breaks off to sigh. “Her passing is tragic. And likely to cause problems for the boys.”

“Well, they can cry to Castiel. I pulled him back in there to heal Sam.” I couldn’t heal him. Not at that point. Not enough juice.

“I know. I’m not criticizing you, son. I’m just astonished.”

“Me too. After Amara—”

“Amara is no longer our enemy.”

“Really?” Fuck me. “We’re all one big happy family now, huh? Good to know.”

He doesn’t answer that.

“So what now?” I have to ask. “Are you going to destroy me in order to protect those precious apes of yours? Or lock me away again?”

“You’re never going back to the Cage, Lucifer.” There’s a quiet assurance in His voice that I’m strongly tempted to trust. “I promise you that. I—I was thinking that you would sit again at My right hand.”

Wait. That sounds way too good to be true. Maybe this isn’t even real. Maybe I’m already dead.

“No, you’re not dead. But there is a condition.”

Despite everything, I force out a chuckle. “Of course there is.”

 

~~*~~

 

Castiel meets me in the park, near the pond where ducks and gulls are mingling and squabbling. He’s still wearing the late, lamented Jimmy Novak, of course. Me, I’m not physically there. I would burn out any vessel—well, apart from Jimmy or Sam—in short order. And I can hardly reveal myself as the Morning Star without laying waste to everyone and everything around us.

But my little brother can sense me. He stares at the birds for a moment—I don’t think he brought any bread for them; he’s not thoughtful the way I am—and then turns around and sits on the bench. He seems to be waiting for me to speak.  

I communicate with him via our grace. “So, Dad gave me a choice. I can rejoin Him in heaven . . . but only if I renounce earth.”

“Renounce it?”

“Yes. As in never come here again. Never lay another finger on one of his precious mud monkeys.”

Castiel sucks in a lung’s worth of air. Good. He understands what that would do to me. Everything I’ve done has been to protect our Father’s creation. Everything. I will not be parted from it.

“Or?” My little brother glances to his side, to the spot where I should be sitting. There’s something unsettling about that. He thinks and acts like a human now, without even realizing it. He’s sacrificed his angelic point of view for the cramped view of a single body.

But considering the choice I’m about to make, who am I to talk?

“Lucifer?”

Oh, right. I still have to explain the other option. “Or, I can live for a time as a human. In order to, ah—how did Dad put it? To try and help me ‘understand and appreciate’ his destructive little monsters.”

Castiel smiles. Just a little, but he does. “Are you willing to do that?”

“If it’s my only means of staying here?” I close my eyes—metaphorically speaking, of course—and breathe in the air, savoring the faint scent of pine. “Yes.”

“What about your grace?”

“It will be there, unharmed. Just inert.”

Castiel gives me that thoughtful, constipated look of his. “For how long?”

I shrug. “You know how Dad is. He just said as long as it takes.”

“It—it sounds like a promising arrangement.”

“Sure it does. To you.” I scoff. “You’ve already lived like one of them. But yeah. I’ll manage.” Hell, Dad knew he had me by the metaphysical balls when he made this offer.

“Then it’s settled?”

“Almost. Ah, here’s the thing. I need a vessel.”

He stiffens up.

“Castiel, I need one that can hold me—even with my grace inert, I’m still an archangel. Sam will never agree. And I don’t think Dad even wants me to ask him. So my only other option is . . . well, my little brother here.” I project a wry smile into my voice. “You know, the one with the super vessel.”

“Lucifer, hosting you almost destroyed me—”

“It won’t be like before. I won’t be burning through you or—or tucking you away in the corner of your own mind. You’ll be in charge. My grace will be inert, remember? All I ask is that you give me some time each week to be the face man.”

“But I live in the Bunker. With Sam and Dean. You would need to live there too.”

“Ah, yeah. About that—that’s, ah, part of the deal, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

Damn, these words are hard to get out. “Dad thinks I can learn a lot from the Winchesters. About humanity, that is.”

“Oh.” And that’s all Cas says. Now he looks thoughtful again. And constipated again.

“So what do you say, little brother?” 

“I have to speak with Dean. And Sam.”

“You know, this might be a case where it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission—”

“No.” There’s a cold finality to his voice. He’s pathetically in need of Dean’s approval.  Especially since he didn’t ask permission from his master last time. And, make no mistake, it will be Dean who decides this. I understand the dynamics of this trio enough to know where the ultimate power lies.

“All right.” I let out a long, bitter sigh. “What do you think the odds are of them agreeing?”

He hesitates. “I don’t know. But you fought with us against Amara. When she was our enemy, I mean. And they are grateful to you for saving Sam.”

I grunt. “Somehow I doubt that will tip the scales. Not in light of all the torture and murders and—well, you get the idea.”

“Maybe not. But if—if this is really what our Father wants . . . .” He shrugs as his voice trails off.

“Very well, Castiel. I trust you to do your damnedest to convince them.” Maybe there’s hope. Dean is weirdly susceptible to that deadpan voice of his. “When do you want to meet?”

“Come back here tomorrow.”

 

~~*~~

 

“Is he here?” Dean’s voice is brusque as he looks around for me. What does he expect to see, exactly? An archangel in his full power and glory, right in the middle of the park? Well, no one said he was the brightest candle in the menorah.

“Yes, he’s here,” Castiel answers. He shoves his hands into the pockets of our trench coat.

Sam folds his arms over his chest. “And he can hear us?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” Dean looks around again, and then inhales deep. “Listen, Lucifer. We’re doing this—I mean, Cas is going to say yes—because Chuck asked us to directly. And that’s pretty much the only reason. I mean, thanks for saving Sam and all . . . but that don’t make up for everything that came before.”

So my Father actually came back down to these apes to ask in person. Or in his own Chuck Shurley meat-suit, at any event. Interesting.

“Right,” Sam agrees. “And he said Cas will have the ability to kick you out if you step out of line.”

“How far out of line do you think I can go with my grace inert?” I project my voice into all their heads. My ‘Casifer’ voice, that is. That’s the one I’ll be using from now on, after all. And it should remind them of the time I fought by their side. My old vessel’s voice—Nick’s voice—would remind them of torture and the like.

Dean glances around, as if he can figure out just where a disembodied voice in his head is coming from, and then rolls his eyes. “Dude, you know how much trouble humans can cause without grace?”

All right—I chuckle at that. “You have a point. Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll be the model of good behavior.”

“And you’re okay with this deal?” Sam doesn’t sound convinced. “We’re going to be like, your parole officers. And you don’t exactly have the highest respect for humans.”

“Parole officers? That suggests handcuffs and other interesting paraphernalia—but that’s really more Crowley’s thing than mine.”

Sam shuts his eyes for a second. “Lucifer—”

“Sam, I’m fine with the arrangement. And you should be too. The Winchester boys will now have two pet angels for the price of one.”

Dean shakes his head a little and turns back to Castiel. “Are you sure about this? Because you can still say no.”

“He’s my brother, Dean.”

And that’s enough of an explanation for any Winchester. “All right.” Dean puts a hand on my little brother’s shoulder. “Do what you have to do.”

The hard lines of Castiel’s face soften—he really is on board with this. “Yes,” he whispers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Theatregirl7299 for the beta! All mistakes are mine.

I land hard inside Castiel’s vessel. I don’t think either of these apes understand what it’s like to take a cosmic consciousness and squash it into a human form.

Worse, I’m squeezing myself into a vessel that’s not really mine. Don’t mistake me, I like the upgrades that Dad has put into this one. Last time around, it almost started to feel like home. But I’d still rather wear Sam. He’s the only meat suit that will ever truly fit.

Whoa. I shut my eyes tight. I’m queasy. And dizzy. And I must have stumbled, because suddenly Sam and Dean are each gripping an arm, helping to prop me up.

“Lucifer! Hey, are you okay?” That’s Sam’s voice, but it sounds pale and hollow. There’s no music to it.

“Here,” Dean says. “Let’s get him over to the bench.” Same thing. It is Dean, but all the rich timbers in his voice are gone.

My legs are moving—I don’t remember trying to walk, but they are—and then I’m sitting down between both Winchesters. I think we’re on the bench that has its back to the duck pond. All right, all right. I’m not going to trip over myself now, so I force myself to open my eyes.

Dean Winchester is staring at me. Except that it’s not him. No, it is him. But he looks nothing like himself.

“Lucifer?” That sounds almost like concern in his voice. But it can’t be that. Dean doesn’t like me anymore than I like him, and he wouldn’t sweat any pain or discomfort of mine.

Maybe he just doesn’t want me to die the first minute I’m in his charge. Yeah, that must be it. That would be awkward to explain to my Dad.

I shake my head at him. “You look all wrong, Dean. There’s . . . there’s no color to you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Ah, dude, I am a white boy.”

“No. I mean the white-gold color that radiates from you. It’s gone. I can’t see it or feel it or taste it.”

Dean just looks flabbergasted.

I turn to Sam. “You—you’re usually . . . lots of low-key colors. Like a rainy spring breeze. But now that’s all gone too.”

“You mean you can’t see our auras?” Sam looks me over. “Is that it?”

“Worse than that. Auras are just dim reflections. But I can’t see you at all. Either of you. Just your meat suits.”

Dean grunts. “Lucifer, that’s all we ever see. And I hate to break it to you, but your grace is inert, remember? You’ve got human eyes now.”

“Yeah? Well, human eyes suck.”

Sam bites back a smile as he loosens his grip on my arm. “I wonder if Cas thinks that too. Does he usually see us the way you do?”

“I assume so." I rarely let him take command when we shared this vessel before. And I didn’t pay attention to his point of view when I did. "He’s only a seraph, not an archangel, but still—what do you say, little brother?”

He answers, but not out loud. He’s leaving me in the driver’s seat for the moment.

“Well?” Dean asks.

“Yes, he sees you like I do—but less so. He didn’t know the difference until I possessed him last time.”

“Huh.”

“But he’s seen the world this way too. Back when he lost his grace.”

“Okay.” Dean’s voice turns philosophical. “If Cas learned to deal with it back then, you can learn now.”

“Or he can share his grace with me so I’m not blinded.” Seeing the world as a mere seraph would still be better than this.

“No.” Sam shakes his head. “Lucifer, the whole point of this is to get you to emphasize with humans.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “Look, man, you can survive without your high and mighty angelic senses for a while.”

I glare at him. “High and mighty Archangelic senses, thank you.”

“Whatever.”

“Fine.” I’d argue, but I don’t have the energy.  So I put my elbows on my knees instead and rest my head in my hands. “Just give me a few minutes to get oriented.”

“All right.” Dean lets go of me too.

We all sit there in silence. No, not silence—I can still hear the squirrels scurrying around, the human children laughing and screaming, and the ducks and gulls flapping. But it’s all muted and subdued.

Sam is the first to speak up again. “Lucifer, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

I keep my head down. “Yes?”

“Well, first of all, thank you. Look, I know you were pretty badly injured when you saved me. So I mean it—thanks for that.”

I shrug.

“And secondly—ah, wow. When you—how do I explain it? When you flooded the bunker with all that light . . .”

He gushes on like an over-excited puppy. And, okay. There’s a certain cuteness to that—it’s actually hard to resist Sam Winchester when he finds some new topic to enthuse over.

“. . .  And that wasn’t normal light. That was—”

“Primordial.” Damn. I think my voice is almost as deadpan as Castiel’s. While there’s a definite satisfaction in blasting my enemies with my true form, this is not my favorite topic.

“Primordial?” There’s a frown in Dean’s voice. “Like ancient?”

“Like older than the sun.” Seriously, these two have been dealing with mystical and occult matters since they were children. You’d think some of it would have sunk in by now. “Remember the order of creation in B’reishit?”

“B’rei—oh, Genesis.”

“Very good, Sam. My Dad called forth light and separated it from the Darkness. And that was before He created the sun. Any sun.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “So that’s what your true form is—it’s made out of that?”

“In part, yes.” I sit up for a second and then let myself slump back against the bench. “I did my best to shield you from it. And I must have succeeded, because, you know, you’re here and not a pile of ash back in the Bunker.”

“Yeah.” His face turns serious. “Trust me, I saw what remained of Toni Bevell.”

“Was that the intruder who shot you?”

“Right. She was from an English chapter of the Men of Letters. We’re, ah, having some issues with them.”

“But that’s not your problem,” Dean says. “We’re handling it.”

“Trust me, I’m not biting my nails for you two.”

Sam laughs a little. “Yeah, we can see that. But look, about this primordial light—”

I roll my eyes. “Sam, you want me to learn how to live like you apes? Fine. Can we stop talking about what makes me most different from you?”

Dean gives his brother a look. “The man’s got a point.” He pauses to nudge me. “You feeling okay now? Ready to go home?”

Home. For the foreseeable future, that means the Bunker. Lucky me. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Good.” Sam hesitates. “Ah, one more thing. It’s not just me, Dean and Cas now.”

“Ah, yeah,” Dean says. “Our mom’s there too.”

I blink. “Mary Winchester? If memory serves, she’s been dead for some time.”

“Yeah. But Amara brought her back.” Dean fidgets. “She meant the resurrection as a thank you present to me. For, ah, helping her and your Dad make up.”

“All right.” I stare at him. And then at Sam. “Does your mother know that Castiel is an angel?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. We told her.”

“And does she know that he’s hosting me now?”

“Yup,” Dean says. “We explained that too. Told her that Cas’ll be sharing his vessel with Lucifer.”

“That was . . . a really interesting conversation,” Sam adds. “But she rolled with it.”

Dean gives a little smile of approval. “Well, she was a hunter back in the day. She’s seen plenty of weird shit, I guess.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Are you including me in that category?”

He grins and pats my shoulder. “Maybe.” But then the grin fades. “Look, you better understand something. We’re not letting you out of our sight. I know we fought together. And I know you saved Sam—but it doesn’t matter.”

“And Cas will be with you every second,” Sam adds.

“Yeah.” Dean nods. “And he’ll be aware every second this time.”

I cock my head at Sam, and then at Dean. “Once again, I’m not really feeling the warm fuzzies here. Don’t you think a little bit of trust is appropriate? In light of my service and the fact that I have no access to my grace?”

“If you want trust,” Sam says, “you’re going to have to find a way to earn it.”

“Yeah.” Dean pats my shoulder again. “So you better get used to company. Now come on—let’s get going.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Theatregirl7299 and C. Metelli for the beta on this chapter! All mistakes are mine.

“Guys?” I clutch at my stomach. Fuck, how is this happening to me? “You’d better pull over.”

Dean veers the Impala to the side of the rode. I stumble out of the back seat and hurl—sweet Dad, what did Castiel eat? Rare hamburgers, apparently. Okay, that’s officially off our diet.

Next thing I know, Sam’s standing beside me, patting my back. “Hey. Do you think you get car sick now? Or are you still just disoriented?”

I finish emptying out my stomach—I hope—and then lean back against the car. “I would know the difference how, exactly?”

“Huh. Good point.”

Damn it, the sun is in my eyes. I never had to worry about that before—it was never glaring like this. How can it be less vibrant than I’m used to, but more painful?

I give up on that line of thought and just shake my head. “All I can tell you, Sam, is that my first experience as a human has been stellar so far. Just stellar.”

Sam smiles a little. “Yeah, it can suck sometimes.”

Dean’s boots crunch the gravel as he comes up to my other side. “Here. Good thing Sammy insisted we carry more than just beer.”

I stare at what he’s offering—a bottle of water. “Why do I want that?”

“So you don’t dehydrate.”

“Oh. Don’t worry about it. I’ll just let Castiel cure this vessel.”

Sam and Dean exchange looks.

“Yeah, we all talked about that,” Sam says. “Me, Dean, Cas and Chuck.” There’s an odd note of sympathy in his voice.

That sympathy raises my hackles. “And?”

“And it’s best that—unless, you know, there’s a real emergency—you just learn to get through this stuff like we do.”

“Like you do? Castiel would cure you.”

Dean swallows down a laugh. “Um, yeah. Sam meant like normal humans do.”

I stare at Sam. And then at Dean. You know what? Screw them both. My little brother isn’t going to subject me to this. And he knows about it—I can feel his presence.

“Well, Castiel?” I say the words out loud. And wait. And wait some more.

I get nothing from him. He’s gone silent.

“Fine. Fine, _Cas_.” I spit out his nickname. “You can have the wheel back. I’ll just ride shotgun for a while. I need the rest anyway.”

Sam and Dean exchange looks. Again.

Me, I roll my eyes back, expecting Castiel to take charge. Nothing happens.

“Lucifer, just see this through, okay?” Sam’s got his hand on my shoulder now. “At least until we get back to the Bunker. I mean, come on. You survived the Cage with your sanity intact. You withstood torture from Amara—and you didn’t break.”

“Yeah, man.” Dean leans back against the car too, right next to me. “I think you can handle an upset stomach.”

I grab the water bottle out of his hand. “Fuck you very much.”

 

~~*~~

 

I get to ride shotgun. In the Impala, I mean—Castiel is still giving me the silent treatment as far as our shared vessel goes. Apparently I should be honored to be sitting up front next to Dean. And apparently I’m less likely to get car sick in this spot.

All right, there might be some truth to that. I don’t feel as queasy now. I still close my eyes, though, for most of the ride.

Living as a human sucks every bit as much as I thought it would. Yes, I get to stay here on earth, amidst my Father’s creation. Yay for that. But half my senses—more, probably—have been ripped from me. I feel like I’m fumbling around, blind and deaf. Worse, I have to deal with human frailties. Like a stomach that can’t handle fast food. And next will come human hygiene, human cuts and bruises, human piss and excrement . . . delightful.

And there’s Sam and Dean, my new parole officers. How long, exactly, is that supposed to last? A clue from Dad would be nice.

I could cry uncle, of course. Blow this popsicle stand and soar back to heaven. I could say goodbye to all this and sit at my Dad’s right hand.

Fuck that. I fought for this creation. I got locked away for millennium for the sake of this creation—for trying to preserve it from these murderous, destructive apes. I refuse to leave now.

“Lucifer? You okay there?”

I open my eyes to find Dean glancing back and forth between me and the road.

“Well, I don’t think I’m going to hurl again.”

“Good. You should drink more water, though.”

I laugh. I can’t help it.

He keeps his eyes on the road this time, but crinkles his forehead. “What?”

“If I wanted to manipulate you, Dean, it’d be the easiest thing in the world.”

He gives me a look, like he’s waiting for me to continue.

“You know. Play the sick card a little longer, come to you for guidance on this whole new human experience, maybe ask you to rescue me from the consequences of some misunderstanding or other.”

“Yeah? And that would get you what, exactly?”

“Your sympathy for my predicament. Even some affection, probably.”

“Maybe.” He gives me another look. A harder one. “Wouldn’t earn you my trust, though.”

“Probably not.” I glance over my shoulder to gauge Sam’s reaction. But he’s dozing in the back, so I turn my attention back to his brother. “Of course, I don’t know if I’ll need your trust yet. How strict a parole officer are you planning to be?”

“Well, I ain’t going to put you in a dog collar and make you lick the floor.”

Okay, I burst out laughing this time. “Aw, what’s the matter, Dean? Did I go a little overboard with the puppy play in Crowley’s case?”

“You think? Dude, you’re lucky I don’t hand your graceless ass over to him.”

“You wouldn’t do that to Castiel’s vessel. Besides, I doubt Crowley can teach me how to be a decent human being. And that is the purpose of this whole arrangement, isn’t it?”

That wins me a smile from him. A small smile, but a genuine one. “Yeah, it is. So Crowley’s out.”

“Or I suppose you could let him join the fun from my side of things. That would give you three devoted slaves.”

“Three?”

“Me, Crowley and Castiel.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Cas is not my slave.”

“I’m sorry. ‘Pet’ is clearly the more accurate term.”

“He’s not my pet either. This might be a hard concept for you, but he’s his own person.”

“Who just happens to live for your attention and approval.”

Dean scoffs. “My approval? Lucifer, if he lived for my approval, he would never have said yes to you the first time around.”

I consider that. “All right. That was one instance of implied disobedience. But be honest. Did you come to agree with his choice in the end?”

“Is he listening to this?”

“I’m not sure. He shut me out when I demanded that he heal me. But since you told him to be aware of my actions every second, I’m going to guess yes.”

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but I hold up a hand. “Wait. Oh, yes, he’s here. And now making his presence known. And . . . .” I let my voice trail off as Castiel speaks directly into my brain, complete with that gravelly pitch of his.

“Well?” Dean asks.

I bite back a grin. My little brother’s response impresses me—even though he’s failed to appreciate the sarcasm in the conversation at hand. “Oh, Castiel is all for me agreeing to formal servitude. He thinks it will make everything less complicated.”

“What? Cas, take over. I want to talk to you.”

“Wait, shouldn’t we discuss my limits first? I assume you already know Castiel’s. And there will be safe words, won’t there?”

He takes a deep breath. “You know something, Lucifer? You are just as annoying without your grace as you are with it.”

“I do know.” In fact I nod, just to emphasize my understanding. “And you, Dean Winchester, make it all too easy to press your buttons.”

He grunts. I take that as a weird sort of acknowledgment.

I don’t bother to respond—not when I just got the last word. So I close my eyes instead and hand the wheel back over to Castiel. Dean can explain the sarcasm on his own. As for me, I’m ready to sink into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Theatregirl7299 for the beta! All mistakes are mine.

I’m lying down on my side when I come to. Well, Castiel is lying down—he still has the wheel. I don’t feel our trench coat around us, though. And we’re not wearing a suit and tie. No, we’re much more casual at the moment. A tee shirt, maybe, and pajama pants? Interesting.

All right, where are we? Back in the Bunker, I think. But I’m not sure where in the Bunker. I force myself to wake up some more so I can peek out of Castiel’s eyes.

And we’re staring straight into Dean Winchester’s face.

Fuck me, I should have known. And this has the look and feel of Dean’s room. Except—why are there two beds? It’s set up like a hotel room right now.

“What about **_Jessica Jones_**?” That’s my little brother’s deep, gravelly voice—how does that come out of the same vocal chords I use?

“Yeah, okay. Sammy raved about it.” Dean is sitting up on the opposite bed, giving the **_Jessica Jones_** idea a nod of approval. “We’re just going to watch the first couple of episodes, though.” His voice is stern and affectionate at the same time. “No binging. I need some sleep tonight, man.”

So . . . wait. Castiel has somehow managed to move into Dean’s room, but in a completely platonic way with his own separate bed?

Don’t mistake me. I’m not wild about the thought of Dean Winchester getting into my little brother’s pants. No mere human is worthy of a sibling of mine, no matter how much favor they find with my Dad.  But I can’t stand to see said human actually reject my little brother.

No, not reject. Knowing Castiel, he’s probably never told the man what he wants, or explained what he’s willing to settle for.  Of course, I could help him with that, were I so inclined.

But really, why Dean? If he must settle for a human—and, all right, they have their fuckable moments—why not choose Sam? My true vessel is much more enticing than Michael’s.

I don’t share these thoughts with Castiel. Not unless he’s eavesdropping on them. And I probably couldn’t tell if he were. Not without my grace.

But I doubt he’s listening. No, he’s too busy sitting up and giving Dean this sickeningly happy smile. Oh, he doesn’t even know I’m aware yet. But that doesn’t last—his smile fades as he notices my presence.

“Dean, Lucifer is awake.”

“Oh yeah?” His expression turns weirdly neutral. “How’s Sleeping Beauty doing?”

“Sleeping Beauty?” I pose that question to Castiel, inside his head.

“You’ve been unconscious for almost a week,” Castiel explains. He speaks out loud, presumably for Dean’s benefit.

“A week?” I raise my eyebrows, figuratively speaking. Well, what did I expect? Auntie Dearest did a number on me. Rescuing Sam just about finished me off again.

“Do you want some face time?” That’s Castiel again. His voice is tentative.

Actually, I don’t feel like going another round with Dean right now—and if I take the wheel, I’ll feel obligated to needle him. Just on general principle.

“No. I’ll hang back and catch up with **_Jessica Jones_** through your eyes. I’d like to see a Time Lord gone bad.”

Castiel repeats my answer out loud, and then shakes his head. “But, Lucifer, David Tennant does not play the Doctor in this show. He’s a different character now.”

Dean and I sigh at the same time.

“I know, little brother. I was—never mind.” Why did I expect Castiel to recognize facetiousness? “And don’t mind me. You’ll hardly know I’m here.”

The fact that he shrugs as he conveys that to Dean just confirms my suspicions. He’s not thinking in terms of needing privacy.

Poor Castiel. He has no idea how to seduce this human.

 

~~*~~

 

I wait until Dean is safely asleep before demanding some face time. Castiel hesitates, but he doesn’t object. Not until I try to leave the room, that is. Then he’s right on my case.

“Lucifer, you’re supposed to be with someone at all times.”

Of course. Now I understand why, despite their pathetically platonic relationship, he’s moved into Dean’s room. Dean wants to keep an eye on me 24-7. And of course Castiel is on board. What a sickeningly obedient little pet.

“First of all, Castiel, I’m not alone. You’re with me.”

“But—”

“No grace here, remember? If I turn homicidal, you can take over. Secondly, I’m hungry. Again, no grace here.”

That doesn’t exactly satisfy him, but he lapses into silence. I can feel his presence, though. He’s hovering over me, watching my every move. Maybe I should walk into one of the bathrooms and start masturbating—would he stick around for that? I’ll have to try it eventually and see.

But for now—yes, food. I stop short at the threshold of the kitchen though. Sam Winchester is sitting, back toward me, at the table. The one with the old fashioned TV that Castiel likes so much, complete with rabbit ears. The TV isn’t on, though. Sam’s drinking coffee and reading some Men of Letters tome.

I should have known he was in here. I should have sensed it—hell, I should have an idea of where everyone in the Bunker is situated. Fuck this! How dare my Father do this to me? What does He think I’m going to learn, living like this? 

Sam’s staring over his shoulder at me. Wait, when did that happen? He must have heard me breathing or something.

“Lucifer?”

I force myself to smile. “In the flesh.”

He stares at me for a moment—I almost admire the way he can keep his face that neutral—and then nods at the fridge. “Want something to eat? There are some frozen burritos in there.”

Frozen burritos. I’m reduced to frozen burritos. “Why not?”

He gets out of his chair so he can show me what to do with these things. It seems to take an eternity before I’m sitting down at the table with him, but it was only a few minutes of microwave time.

Not much happens. I eat my burritos. Sam reads his tome and sips his coffee. Castiel keeps quiet. I can still sense him hovering, but he’s not interfering right now.

And this . . . this is bearable. It’s not exactly a comfortable silence, but I don’t think there’s active hostility either.

Why not, though? I know—none better—exactly what I’ve put Sam through. Not saying I regret it, but my mere presence still freaks him out. However well he hides it. “Did you fight with my Father over this, Sam?”

He looks up and cocks his head at me. “This?”

“Babysitting me.”

He chokes down a grin at that. “Yes and no. I mean, once he promised you couldn’t smite us—and that Cas could keep you under control—I was kind of on board.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “You love God, even if that love is still a little fucked-up. You fought with us. And you saved my life.”

I stare at him—and I don’t bother to disguise that I’m doing it. Sam doesn’t have a tell, exactly, but I know that he’s not giving me the whole answer. “You’re leaving something out, I think.”

“Why do you care, Lucifer? You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Morbid curiosity.”

That almost wins me another smile. Almost. “All right.” Sam pushes the coffee cup away from himself and closes the tome. “I’ve got my own morbid curiosity about you.”

“About me? I’m an open book.”

He snorts. “Only in a few select ways.”

“Fine. Ask me whatever you want, Sam. I’ll do my best to satisfy you.”

Sam blinks at the double-entendre, but is smart enough not to take the bait. “Okay. I know you don’t like to talk about this, but when you flooded the Bunker with light—you know, revealed your true form—dude. I couldn’t see that light, but I could sense it. And it felt . . . holy. Like, sublime. And that’s part of you, right?”

“Yes.” When did my voice get so dry?

“Well, so—you know.”

“No, Sam, I don’t.”

A new voice enters the conversation—a strong, feminine voice. “He’s trying to reconcile that holiness with the psychopathic bastard he knows you as.”

I turn back to the doorway and stare at the woman standing there, arms folded across her chest. Then I bestow a smile on her that’s just as disturbing, I hope, as it is appreciative. “Hello, Mary Winchester.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Thearegirl7299 for the beta! All mistakes are mine, in grammar, structure or SPN mythology.

Mary Winchester takes in my smile with a face full of contempt—just to prove she’s not disturbed by my presence. I grin at that as I stand up and nod at Sam. “Why don’t you pull out a chair for your mother?”

“Don’t,” she tells him. “I’m fine just where I am.”

Sam gives his mom a look that’s meant to be comforting, but he’s deluding himself if he thinks it will ease the tension in the room.

Me, I sit down again with a shrug. So this is the woman who died in the fire? She looks like that never happened. She’s not a young mother of a four year old and an infant, I mean. She’s the age she’d be if the fire never happened.

“Um, my mother’s right, Lucifer.”

I turn back to Sam, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“I can’t reconcile those two things. How is an archangel who’s part of—or one with, or made out of, or whatever—that holy light . . . how is he the same person who corrupted humans into demons and murdered whole towns and tried to bring on the apocalypse just to spite his Father and—”

“It’s a long list, Sam.” I hold up my hand to stop him. “Let’s not waste the rest of the night on this.”

“Don’t forget torturing my son,” Mary says, sotto voice. “Or the fire.”

I paste my grin back on. “Oh, I haven’t forgotten either.” I shift in my seat so I can stare at her. “But the fire—I don’t take responsibility for that particular sin. Azazel was only vaguely following my orders. I didn’t micromanage him, and I certainly never told him to murder you. Especially not you.”

That gets her attention.

Sam’s too, as I shift my focus back and forth between them. “Wait,” he says. “Why not? Why would you care?”

“I lose my temper from time to time, Sam. I admit that.” I shake my head in mock regret. “Or get bored too easily—that’s what happened when I was pretending to be Castiel, and you so sweetly offered up your soul to power me up.”

Mary’s mouth drops open.

Sam just narrows his eyes at me, waiting for me to continue.

“But I shouldn’t have taken you up on that. In fact, I apologize for trying to kill you just then. I apologize for any time I’ve tried to smite you.”

He snorts. “Really.”

“Really. And I’d like to think I would have repented at leisure and done my utmost to resurrect you—after all, you never know when a true vessel will come in handy again.”

Sam doesn’t look impressed. “And that’s why you would’ve repented? Because you want to make sure your true vessel stays out there?”

“Yes. And any almost-true vessels.” I look directly at Mary. I even put a hand over my heart to emphasize my sincerity. “That’s why, however low I’ve sunk, I would never have countenanced that fire.”

She turns pale. Sam stands up—I catch his movement out of the corner of my eye. So that’s what peripheral vision is. Not as useful as angelic sight, but it’s something.

“What do you mean?” That’s Sam. His voice is tight.

Mary doesn’t say a thing. She’s just standing there, even paler now, trying to pretend she’s not just as morbidly curious as her son.

I turn to Sam. “Your mother isn’t my true vessel—but she is your mother. The exact right bloodline.”

He shakes his head. Slowly. Like he’s trying to convince himself that he didn’t hear what he just heard. “No. No, that bloodline comes through my father.”

“Really? Who told you that?” I laugh. “No, Sam. Michael’s vessel—you know, big brother Dean?—came via your father’s line. You’re my vessel by virtue of your maternal ancestry.”

“That’s a lie.” And that’s Mary’s voice. Cracking—just a tad, but it is cracking.

“It’s not a lie.” I shift toward her once more. “You’re holding up remarkably well for someone’s who’s just been told that Satan could theoretically possess you. Well, I could theoretically possess anyone, but your vessel could actually bear it. For a long time, probably.”

I don’t see the punch coming—apparently there are limits to this peripheral vision. But I feel Sam’s fist implode into my face, knocking me off the stool and sending me crashing to the floor.

Fuck, that’s painful. And something’s wrong with the wrist I landed on. There was a sickening sort of crack—

Wait, Sam’s not done. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt and punches my face again and again. I raise my good arm to fend off the blows, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I know how to fight with my grace and wings and angel blade, not like some low-life creature forged in mud.

I give up on defense. There’s blood—my mouth is full of it and my nose is spurting it—but so what? I’ve had worse than anything this ape can dish out, even if he kills this damned vessel. The Cage was worse. Amara was worse. Fuck Sam if he thinks this will teach me a lesson.

The whole thing only lasts for a few seconds. Well, no—it probably goes on longer, but it doesn’t matter. I feel Castiel taking the wheel as I slide into unconsciousness.

 

~~*~~

 

I’m still in the kitchen when I wake up. No, wait. This isn’t the real Bunker kitchen. This is Castiel’s mind-palace version of it. And he’s here with me. He’s sitting on the floor with me, propping me up a little. I’ve got my head on his shoulder. And that’s—that’s okay, actually. I feel a little bit of his grace seeping through me.

“You look like me,” Castiel says. “Not like your old vessel.”

I manage a smile—we must look like twins. “It’s been . . . hard to shift how I see myself in a meat suit.” Sweet Dad, Nick’s vessel was a pain in the ass, but I do miss it. “But this is me now. At least for the foreseeable future.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything to that.

“Are you offended, little brother?”

“No. I don’t care if you look like me. I just . . . I don’t understand why you said the things you did to Sam and Mary. I know I don’t always predict how humans will react—”

I snort. “Or how angels or anyone else will react.”

“Right.” He still doesn’t sound offended. “But you do, Lucifer. You must have known exactly how Sam would react.”

“Not exactly.” I nudge myself a little closer to him. And a little closer to his grace. “I’m not omniscient, and I wasn’t sure if Sam had that level of rage in him. Mostly he doesn’t, you know. He’s not like Dean. He doesn’t love as hard or hate as hard.”

“But you threatened his mother!”

“No. I just pointed out that her body could serve as my vessel for a time—a long time—and, therefore, I had no motive to order, endorse or approve of her murder.”

“Well, it sounded like a threat to me.”

“How? I couldn’t possess her even if I wanted to. Don’t worry, Castiel. I’m content to share your vessel.”

“Lucifer, please tell me why you said those things. I know you were telling the truth, but . . .” he lets his voice trail off as he sighs. “I want to understand.”

Ah. So Castiel does know just how much he misses out of every conversation. Or he has an inkling, anyway. I must be in a mellow mood, because I decide to take pity on him.

“It wasn’t a threat, little brother, as much as a way to discomfort those two apes and set them on edge.”

“But why would you want to do that?”

I shrug. “Habitual malice.”

He shakes his head at me, as if he’ll never understand. Which he probably won’t.

Time to change the subject. “Since we’re both here, I assume our vessel is either unconscious or sleeping.”

“We’re sleeping. But Dean expects to speak with you when we wake up.”

“Swell.” I roll my eyes. “What about Sam?”

“Dean won’t let him speak to you right now. And Mary doesn’t want to.”

“But Sam does?”

Castiel hesitates. “Yes.”

“Give me a heads up—is he looking to choke me or cry peace?”

“I’m . . . I’m not sure.”

Of course he isn’t. But there’s no point in berating Castiel for that. He’s not wired the right way to pick up on a human’s mood or intentions. And I’m not saying that’s a problem. He’s wired the way our Father wired him, and that’s fine. He’s still better than any mud monkey by half.

“All right.” I nudge against him once more and then force myself to sit up. “Let’s hear what Dean has to say to me.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to C. Metelli for the beta! Any mistakes in grammar or Supernatural mythology are all mine.

It’s harder to open my eyes than I thought. What is this? Why can I only squint? And why is there so much fucking pain?

There’s a gentle weight on my shoulder. I shift my head so I can see who’s with me. Oh, right. Dean.

“Don’t try too hard to open your eyes,” he says. “They’re all swollen.”

Ah. That would account for it. “And the rest of me?”

“Broken wrist, broken nose, concussion, bruises and more swelling—well, pretty much all over.”

I force myself to chuckle. “Impressive. I didn’t know Sam had it in him. Give him my compliments.”

Dean stares at me for a few seconds and then sucks in a lungful of air. He must be willing himself to keep his temper in check. If they both beat the crap out of me, they might have to answer to my Dad.

“Look,” Dean says. “This? This won’t happen again. As long as you don’t attack us physically, we ain’t going to lay another hand on you.”

I try to cock my head at him, but it hurts too much. “And if I mouth off?”

“You mouth off all you want. If you go too far, I’ll just—I don’t know. Put you in a time out or something.”

“A time out?” Sweet Dad, I wish I could snap my fingers and disintegrate him. “I’m not a kid. I’m older than your planet!”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still a child. Sometimes I think all you angels are.”

I try to glare at him, but that’s too painful. “Including your beloved Castiel? Is that why you haven’t slept with him yet? I assumed it was some sort of internalized homophobia on your part, but if you think he’s just a kid—”

“Hey!” Dean’s face is red now. It’s almost a good look on him. “Me and Cas—you know what? Fuck you.”

“Castiel’s the one who would like to fuck you, although he’d settle for any crumbs of your affection.”

Dean looks away. He doesn’t say anything for a while—he’s probably counting to ten. Real slow.

“I don’t think of Cas as a child. Not now.” He finally looks at me again. “He’s grown up a lot over the last few years. But before that? Yeah.”

“Ah, you know he’s here with me, right?” Wait, why did I remind him?

And why isn’t Cas furious? I know he’s awake and listening to all this. But he’s letting me say whatever I want. I thought he’d grab the wheel back before I do any more damage.

“I know Cas is there.” Dean leans forward a little. “Trust me, I can say this to his face. And like I said, it’s different now. But back when he was trying to open up Purgatory . . . .” he lets his voice trail off as he shakes his head.

Purgatory. Oh yeah. “I don’t know that whole story. I know he used the Leviathan to kill Raphael—but you should be happy about that. You want to preserve creation, don’t you? Raphael would have started up the apocalypse again.”

“You mean the apocalypse you tried to make happen?”

“Yes. But my motives were much purer.”

Dean gives me a pointed look. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. I just wanted to rid this planet of the human vermin. From what I’ve heard, Raphael wanted the same thing Michael wanted: destroy everything and start fresh.”

“Ah, kind of the same results for us humans. Either way.”

“Well, Castiel managed to save your asses and the planet too. So, child or not, you should be happy with him.”

“Was I glad he beat Raphael? Yeah. Was I happy with the way he did it? No.” He pauses. “But that’s water under the bridge. Cas and I are way past that. Doesn’t change the fact that most of you angelic dicks—I swear, it’s like you have billions of years to grow up. So you just never get around to it.”

I should want to smite him again. I should be snapping my fingers, even if it won’t work. Instead I’m—I don’t know what I am. Maybe I’m too tired to get angry again? “Remember, me and Castiel are special cases.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“The other angels don’t understand the concept of free will, Dean. So asking them to grow up isn’t fair.” I pause. “Well, Gabriel did. He understood free will. But not the rest.”

“At least until you killed him.”

“True. I regret that.” Wait, did I just say that out loud? To Dean Winchester? “I mean, I regret that Gabriel made it necessary.”

Dean snorts. “Really? You still all for the apocalypse? Even after you and your Dad made up?”

“Why don’t you tell me how to save my Dad’s creation with your kind doing everything in their power to destroy it? You brought us nuclear weapons, global warming, oil spills . . . want me to keep going?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but I cut him off.

“And you know what the best part is, Dean? Nothing I’ve done to you people comes even close to what you’ve done to yourselves. Should I start listing wars and genocides?”

“No. You should start figuring out how to help us do better.”

“Excuse me, Winchester? I must have misheard you.”

“Look, you’re the fucking Light Bringer, right? That’s what Chuck created you to be, dude. You’re supposed to guide us, not smite us.”

“For your information, Dad created me before He even thought about you apes.”

“But He still meant for you to teach us. You’re the one who’s billions of years old, remember? Even if you act like a bratty teen.”

“Teach you! I—wait. Why don’t I want to smite the fuck out of you right now?”

Despite everything, he bites back a grin. “Probably because Cas swallowed down some painkillers. You know, so you’re not in agony. They’re mellowing you, man.”

“Oh.” I look around the room. Dean’s room. I’m on Castiel’s bed. “Why aren’t I in a hospital?”

“Um, a few reasons.”

“Which are?”

“Look, we don’t exactly have legal paperwork. And explaining how you got like this would have been awkward. And we don’t trust you not to accuse Sammy of assault and try to get him arrested.”

I roll my eyes. No, I don’t. I try to, but it’s still too painful. “I wouldn’t do that. I recognize that I need you two mud monkeys—I made a deal with my Father, Dean. Now, why don’t you tell Castiel to use his grace to heal me?”

“Don’t worry. He’s using enough of it so that you’ll heal all right without a hospital.”

“Aw. And I so wanted to experience the American health care system for myself.”

Dean snorts. “Relax, okay? The pain killers probably only just started to kick in.”

“Yeah? Well, as long as I’m getting all mellow, I want to talk to Sam.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He ain’t exactly mellow about all this yet.”

“But he wants to talk to me.”

Dean lets out this long sigh. “And you know that how?”

“Castiel told me.”

“Of course he did.” He lifts his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Fine. I’ll bring him in here. But do yourself a favor, man. Don’t you say a single fucking word about our mother.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flying un-beta'd this chapter. There's no one else I can blame for mistakes in grammar, spelling, structure, story, characterizations or canon. I welcome any and all constructive crits!

“Lucifer?”

My eyes blink open. Fuck, Sam is staring down at me. “What the—did I fall asleep?”

“Ah, probably.”

I push myself up a little. And—not a great idea. I end up jostling the broken wrist.

“Hey, easy there.” There’s an annoying mix of surprise and sympathy in those mutable eyes of his, which are a sort of gray-green at the moment.

I glare up at him. “Is this what happens to you apes? You fall asleep without even knowing it?”

“Sometimes. Disconcerting, right?”

“Discon—how can you stand losing control like that? How can you stand any of this?”

“Any of . . .” Sam lets his voice trail off, waiting for me to fill in the blanks.

“Forget it. Just—I don’t even know where to start.”

Great. He’s wearing that cautious, curious look of his now. Like I’m something to study. Something alien and unpredictable. I must not be as mellow as I thought, because I want to smite him. Just temporarily, but I do.

Sam’s oblivious. “We do just drift off like that. Especially when we’re on pain killers. But you’ve gone unconscious before, dude.”

“That was different.” I settle back down, careful of my wrist this time. “I allowed that to happen. Both times. Back in the car and back when you were beating my face in. And do you really need to keep looming over me?”

Sam’s mouth does this weird thing. Like he almost wants to smile, but he can’t stand to give me that satisfaction. Nonetheless, he pulls up the chair that Dean left by the bed and takes a seat. “Better?”

“Yes.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything.

I don’t say anything either.

Sam keeps studying me.

Fuck that. I try to roll my eyes again, but no dice. Still too swollen. “So what now?” I ask instead. “We can kiss and make up, if you go real gentle on me.”

He doesn’t bite back the smile this time. I’m not sure why, but I count that as a victory. “Thanks, Lucifer, but I’ll pass.”

“Going to apologize, then?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

I shrug. “Why not? I apologized for all those times I tried to smite you.”

He keeps giving me that same look.

“Oh, come on. They were half-hearted attempts. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Sam pushes his hair back, sweeping it up and out of his face. “Look, I shouldn’t have attacked you. Not when you’re like this.”

“Like what? Pathetically human?”

“Pathetically human and pathetically untrained.” He pauses for a deep breath. “I beat the crap out of you when you had no way to defend yourself—and that was wrong. So, yeah, I’m sorry.”

He still thinks I deserved it. That’s written all over his face. But I don’t call him on it. Wait, why don’t I call him on it? It must be the pain killers. All right, maybe I am still mellow.

“Apology accepted,” I tell him. “Is this the part where we shake hands?”

“Not yet.”

“What, you want an apology from me? For what? Telling the truth?”

“No. Lucifer—look.” He does that thing with his hair again. “I need you to stop seeing me as your vessel. Same with my mom. You’re not going to possess either of us.”

I take my time about answering him. That’s partly because this puny human brain of mine seems to be working in slow motion. But it’s partly because I need to handle Sam just right here. “You are still my vessel. There’s nothing you or I can do to change that. We’ll always have a . . . connection because of it.”

He doesn’t jump down my throat over that. And he doesn’t interrupt. He just waits.

“That said, I’m not looking to possess you, Sam. Or your mom.” I try to gauge his reaction, but he’s hard to read right now. Doesn’t matter. This is one of those instances where telling the truth is my optimal strategy. “Trust me, possessing either of you won’t convince my Dad that I’m ready to play nice with his precious humans.”

“Do you want to play nice with us?”

“Hardly.  But it’s a necessity.” For the time being, anyway.

“Why?”

I shrug. “Because I want the freedom to go back and forth between earth and heaven, for one thing.  And I want my archangelic powers back at my disposal while I’m here. And for those things to happen, I need Dad to trust that I won’t smite the lot of you.”

Sam’s eyes light up with an almost good-natured humor. “So wait. You don’t want to play nice with us, but you intend to? You really will stop yourself from smiting us?”

“If that’s the only way I can maintain access to the rest of my Dad’s creation? Yes.”

He gives me a look of disbelief.

“What? You think I’m not capable of enlightened self-interest?”

“All right. Say I do believe you. If you mean to stay here on earth—or stay here a lot of the time—you need a vessel.”  

“Yes.”

“Look, my mom and me? We’re off the table.”

I motion to my swollen, bruised face and then to my broken wrist. “You’ve made that clear.”

A tiny bit of guilt creeps into his voice. “Then what next? We let you take over some other poor bastard? How are you going to find a vessel that can hold you? Or do you just plan on gulping down demon blood to make it strong enough?”

I let out this long-suffering sigh. Sam’s supposed to be the smart one. “I have a perfectly good vessel. It requires sharing, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s good, actually.”

Sam blinks. “Wait. You think you’re going to keep sharing with Cas?”

Fuck. My little brother is tensing up now. Arguably I should have had this conversation with him first. “Yes. The only way I’ll manage to play nice with you apes is by keeping him for my Jiminy Cricket.”

For a second, Sam is speechless. He even gapes at me. “You—you want Cas to be your conscience.”

“Yes. And so do you. I know your endgame, Sam. Dean told me outright what he wants to happen. Wait, how did he put it? I should live up to the role my Dad created me for—the Light Bringer. I should teach you humans to do better, or something like that.”

“Yeah. That is what we want. But no one said anything about you staying with Cas.”

“Come on. You’ll like me better with Castiel as my conscience. Besides, do you have a better idea?”

He gapes some more. “No,” he says at last. “Not right now. But what does Cas get out of this? And, long term, is this going to hurt him?”

I take a deep breath. “Hosting me hurt him before—when I had access to my grace and all my powers, I mean—but I wasn’t trying all that hard to spare him. If we work together . . . I think I can stay without harming him.”

“But why should he agree to this?”

“Because I’m his big brother.”

Sam narrows his eyes at me. “His big brother who once disintegrated him.”

I cringe. All right, that was a direct hit on Sam’s part. “I did, didn’t I? But that won’t happen again. Trust me, I’m coming to appreciate Castiel. Besides, I can help him.”

Now Sam looks suspicious. “Help him how?”

“A million ways, probably. Once I’m back to full power, I can lend him my grace and my abilities whenever he needs them. I can fill in a lot of blanks for him regarding everyday human interactions. And . . . well, I can help him, ah, clarify things with one human in particular.”

Castiel is in a sort of confused shock, I think, as he tries to work out exactly what I mean. Sam’s in shock too—but he’s not confused.

“Lucifer, no.” He shakes his head at me, as if I were a two year old who just wrecked some other kid’s sand castle. “Don’t—look, those two have to figure things out for themselves.”

“And they’ve had how many years to do that, exactly?”

His mouth falls open again. “All right. You have a point. But—no. Look, I’ve lived with them and I don’t even know what either of them wants. Maybe they’re both happy as they are.”

“Of course they’re both happy. Dean has a pet angel to hang with and scold and shower affection on. Castiel is living with his beloved human master. He can stare at him all the time like some love-sick puppy—”

“Dean is not Castiel’s master! It’s not like that between them.”

“Whatever. Look, my little brother is satisfied—but only because he doesn’t think he deserves a different kind of commitment from Dean.”

“I—” Sam breaks off and shakes his head again. “Cas is awake right now, right? What’s he saying?”

“He’s not saying anything. He’s in too much shock. Listen, nothing is settled yet. I don’t know if I want Dean to get into my little brother’s pants. As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t deserve Castiel.”

“Lucifer, Dean is never going to sleep with Cas. Not while you’re in the same body.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when and if we come to it. Remember, Castiel is an angel. As a general rule, we’re pretty ace.”

“Asexual, you mean?”

“Of course.  Not saying that you humans aren’t fuckable. And even demons have their moments. But overall—”

“But overall you think that Cas and Dean can be boyfriends without sex.”

“That’s what they are already, Sam. I want that to be out in the open, so they both know where they stand. And what they expect from each other. I mean, should Cas get a say in how much Dean sleeps around?”

 Sam does that gaping thing again. I seem to have that effect on him.  “I can’t believe I’m about to say this—but you’re right. They should talk about this stuff.”

“Well, I can teach Castiel how to bring it up.”

He shakes his head. “Lucifer, I get what you’re saying. I do. But Dean and Cas still have to work this out on their own.”

“You can’t tell me not to help my little brother out.”

“Okay. Maybe that’s true. But—”

“Fuck it, Sam. You got what you wanted out of this conversation, right? I promise not to try to possess you or your mother. And, as a bonus, I promise to let Castiel guide me in any moral decisions.”

“This right here—interfering with Dean and Cas? This is a moral decision!”

I scrunch up my brow. “Huh. Okay. In this one case, I can’t really turn to Castiel. So you’ll have to be my conscience.”

Sam’s eyes widen. He has no idea what to say.

“What do you think, Sam? Should we really let our respective brothers flounder around because neither of them knows enough to sit down and talk this out?”

He sighs. “Let me talk to Cas.”

“Why? He obviously has no idea what he’s doing—”

“Now, Lucifer.”

I try to roll my eyes one last time—but then I give up. “Fine. But while you’re having this little heart to heart with him, tell him to heal our vessel up some more.”


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel is a wreck as I hand over the wheel. I can feel his nerves. Literally. They’re reverberating through our vessel. He really doesn’t want to talk to Sam about this.

Looks like I won’t get the ‘thank you, Lucifer’ I deserve for bringing all this up.

I don’t nod off. No, I’m staying awake for this conversation. I want a chance to study Sam. I think I can make him an ally in this—in helping Castiel clarify his relationship with Dean, that is.

By itself, that’s not a big deal. But allying with me could become a habit with Sam. We teamed up back when he rescued me. Then we teamed up in the big battle against Amara. If we team up now to bring my younger brother and his older brother closer together . . . well, that could bode well for me gaining Sam’s help in the future.

Wait. His help with what?

I don’t have an answer for that. It’s just that—whatever. It kills me to admit this, but Sam is a useful human in general. When he’s not annoying me, that is. When I don’t want to smite the fuck out of him.

“Cas,” Sam is saying, “Did you, uh, hear everything Lucifer was saying?”

“Yes.”

“He wants to stay. Permanently. In your vessel, I mean.”

“I know. To a certain extent, Sam, it makes sense.”

His eyes—which are more green now than gray—bulge. “So you’re on board with it?”

Castiel tries to make himself comfortable on the bed. Not easy with a broken wrist, nose and swollen face, trust me. “It depends. I will not allow him to burn through my vessel once he has his grace back. But if there’s a way we can share, where it won’t harm either of us or this vessel—isn’t that a good thing?”

“I’m not sure.”

“But he won’t bother you or your mother. And he won’t try to take over some other human.”

“Well, there’s that,” Sam admits. “But he’d have to mean what he said. About taking you for his conscience.”

My little brother smiles. It’s that sad, surprising smile of his—the one that shows he has a much better grasp of a situation than I’d usually give him credit for. “I know I’ve . . . made bad choices, Sam. But if I can help Lucifer make better ones, I will.”

“Oh, believe me, he’s better off with you than without you.” Sam’s voice is gentle now. “It’s just—it’s a lot to put on you. Maybe too much.”

“Well, we don’t have to settle this now.”

That much is true. Still, neither of them is completely hostile to the idea. Good. Dean will be, of course. That goes without saying. But if I get these two on my side, they’ll handle him.

“All right.” Sam shifts in his chair. He almost squirms. “What about what Lucifer said about—um, you know. About you and Dean. You heard that too?”

“Yes.” My little brother swallows. Awkwardly. He does everything awkwardly in this vessel. See how much he needs me?

“Okay.” Sam takes a deep breath. “So what do you think?”

“I . . . Dean is my family, Sam. As are you.”

“So, he’s like a brother to you?”

Castiel hesitates. “Dean sees us as brothers.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, he says he does. But is that how you see Dean?”

“I—I’m content to be brothers. If that’s what Dean wants.”

“What do you want?”

Silence. My little brother doesn’t know how to respond. He shifts a little on the bed, and runs into the same problem I did—making sure he doesn’t jostle our broken wrist.

“Cas . . . okay.” Sam shakes his head. “Look, you don’t owe me any answers. If you don’t want to talk about this, that’s fine. And you don’t have to talk about it with Lucifer either. Don’t let him bully you into it.”

“I don’t think he’s trying to bully me. And—I don’t know, Sam. Maybe he’s right.”

Sam’s eyes are guarded now. “Right about what?”

“About . . . putting things out in the open. Isn’t that what we want Lucifer to do? To be open and truthful and—”

“And a real Light Bringer. Yeah. But I know Lucifer, Cas. Trust me, I know him. He’s not always a deceiver. He tells the truth a lot. Mostly because he knows how to use the truth as a weapon.”

I bite back a grin. Sam’s not wrong about me.

Castiel is silent again. Silent and thoughtful. “I think it’s more than that. I think lying—it’s not easy for him. He can do it, but it goes against his real nature.”

What? Remember what I just said about him having a better grasp of the situation? Forget that. The pain killers have obviously clogged up his thinking.

Sam’s wearing this surprised look now. A surprised look that says he’s seriously considering my brother’s words. What the actual fuck?

Meanwhile, Castiel is still talking. “And, if I talked to Dean, I wouldn’t be using the truth as a weapon. I’d just—I’d be letting him know that I’m open to being more than . . . brothers. And that I don’t care if we engage in hedonism or not.”

“Um, is that part true, Cas? You really don’t care?”

He shrugs—or tries to. It’s a little hard, given our injuries. “I would like to be hedonistic with him, but it’s not necessary. It would just be a bonus. A very nice bonus.”

Sam smiles a little at that.

“But—” Cas breaks off to swallow. I feel him tensing up. “What if I offend Dean? What if he wants me to leave?”

I snort. “He won’t do that, Castiel. I’ll give the ape this much: he genuinely loves you.” Sweet Dad, I can still hear him crying out for my little brother. Pathetic. “You might not get him in bed, but he won’t kick you out of his life.”

Sam can’t hear any of that, of course. Besides, he’s busy choosing his words. But I can read him right now. I can tell he’s about to say pretty much the same thing.

“I don’t think that will happen, Cas.” He puts a hand on our shoulder. “Honestly? I think Dean will freak out a little. But he loves you, dude. He’s not going to want you to leave. If he’s not interested in, you know, a deeper relationship—or if he just can’t handle one—he’ll try to let you down easy.”

Castiel thinks about that, and then nods. Slowly.  “That’s what Lucifer thinks too.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Great. I’m agreeing with Lucifer a lot lately. That scares the fuck out of me.”

“You don’t always agree with him.” Castiel looks up at him with this sort of fish-like expression which, apparently, means that he’s trying to be helpful. “You just beat the crap out him.”

“Yeah. But that—listen, Cas, you should heal yourself. You don’t deserve these injuries. And as for Lucifer . . . .” He lets his voice trail off.

“As for me what?” I nudge Castiel. Figuratively speaking, of course. “Ask him.”

My little brother obliges. “What about Lucifer?”

Sam breathes in so deep I’m surprised his lungs don’t explode. “He can hear me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. He’s been through a lot. He got tortured by Amara. Then he almost died. Then he saved my life. Then I beat the crap out of him. So . . . I think I’m over what’s happened before. I can’t forgive him for the stuff he did to other people. But the things he did to me . . . it's all right. I’m okay with him now. Him and me—we can start fresh.”

What? I feel this red-hot rage surging through me. Yeah, I’m supposed to be thinking about how useful Sam can be—but I can’t. I’m furious. How the fuck dare he?

“Cas?” Sam is peering at our vessel now. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s Lucifer. I think he’s angry.”

“Yes, I’m angry.” I spit out each word. “Tell that over-sized maggot that I didn’t ask for his forgiveness.”

“He’s, ah, upset,” Castiel explains. “He says he didn’t ask for your forgiveness. I guess he doesn’t want it.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “He was all for crying peace before—but now he’s back to acting like a brat?”

Castiel doesn’t know how to answer.

“Whatever.” Sam stands up. “As far as I’m concerned, Lucifer and I are still even right now. We can talk when he gets over his tantrum. Meanwhile, please, dude. Heal yourself.”

He walks out of the room. And Castiel . . . Castiel ignores my so-called tantrum. He lets his grace flood our vessel instead.

It’s not like my grace. It doesn’t have the raw power behind it. Yet it flows through every molecule of this body, healing and renewing. I can’t help it—I let it wash over me as the bones of our wrist knit back together. As our nose seems to reset itself. As the swelling goes down and our bruises clear up.

When Castiel’s done, he lets our vessel fall asleep. And then he meets me in that ‘mind palace’ kitchen of his.

I’m standing up now, at least. Standing up and leaning back against the stove. I summon up a crooked grin. No way am I going to thank him for the healing.

“You here to lecture me, little brother? Tell me I should have been more gracious to Sam? That I should have fallen on my knees and kissed his feet with gratitude?”

“Uh, no.” His eyes are wide and confused. “I think that would have disturbed Sam.”

I force out a laugh. “True. Maybe I should consider doing it, then. Just to see his reaction.”

“Lucifer, what’s wrong? Dean forgave me once for—for bad things I had done. And I felt so grateful. And relieved. And . . . and no one kissed anyone’s feet.”

Fuck me. There’s no way I can explain this to him. He doesn’t understand how far beneath us these vermin are. To him, these are precious and wondrous creations that we should guide and care for. Why can’t he see the truth? Why can’t he see how our Father abandoned us for these things? How He tossed His love for us aside in favor of these new kids of His?

Still . . . it’s hard to stay angry at Castiel, especially when he’s looking so sickeningly earnest. Besides, he’s not the one I’m furious at.

So I don’t explain anything. I walk over to him instead, tug him toward me and wrap my arms around him.

Castiel tenses. I think he’s in shock again. But after a moment he returns the hug. Hell, he pats my back as if he’s trying to soothe me. And then  . . . then he wraps his grace around me. Gently, like he’s draping a worn, comfortable blanket around the pair of us. And, okay. That’s genuinely soothing.

I rest my head on his shoulder. Maybe it won’t cost me too much to make him happy right now. And maybe there’s a way I can earn back some points with Sam. That human will still prove useful.

“All right, Jiminy Cricket. That’s how this works? I should be grateful and relieved?”

“I don’t know how you should feel.” Holy Dad, his voice is ridiculously serious. “But, Lucifer, I think this is a big deal for Sam. The way he’s setting the history between you two aside.”

“Well, I have been known to torture him. And deceive him, even after I promised not to.” I sigh. “Fine. I’ll, uh—I’ll make this right.”

Castiel stiffens again. “You’re not really going to kiss his feet, are you?”

I chuckle. “I don’t know, little brother. I’m playing this one by ear.”


	9. Chapter 9

Castiel loosens his grip on me. Or maybe I loosen my grip on him. Either way, the hug ends. And I don’t feel his grace as strongly as I did just a second ago.

I stifle a yawn—fuck me. I’m already more human than I should be. Angels shouldn’t feel tired. Especially archangels. But apparently that fact doesn’t matter. Gee, Dad, thanks. Thanks so much.

Fuck.  I have to fight off another yawn. So I turn it into a sigh as I glance around. “Is this your whole mind palace, Castiel? Just the kitchen?”

“I don’t know if this is actually a mind palace. It’s not quite what they mean by that on **_Sherlock_** —”

“It’s close enough, little brother.” How do I manage not to roll my eyes? And why am I trying to spare his feelings? “Just answer the question.”

He blushes a little—aw, that’s adorable—and shakes his head. “No. There’s more. I can bring us to Dean’s room.”

Dean’s room. Of course.

I let him lead the way. There’s not really a connecting passage. He hasn’t mapped out the whole of the Bunker yet—not for this purpose. No, it’s the kitchen and Dean’s room that matter most to him. So we pretty much walk from one to the other.

And there are two beds in Dean’s room, like there are in real life. Yes, even in the privacy of Castiel’s mind palace, he can't imagine himself actually sleeping with his idol.

“Really, Castiel?” I raise my eyebrows.

He gives me that impossibly earnest look of his. “Really what, Lucifer?”

“You don’t let yourself even dream about sharing Dean’s bed?”

He blushes again. A lot this time.

I walk over to our bed and collapse into it. “Come here.”

“Why?”  

“Oh, right. You still don’t need to sleep—lucky bastard. Come here anyway.”

He does. Cautiously.

I roll my eyes again—and this time I don’t bother to hide it. “Mojo yourself into some pajamas and come to bed.”

“But I—”

“Please, Castiel?”

He stares at me for a moment. A long moment. Then he shrugs and does as I ask.

I curl up next to him. He hesitates, then puts a brotherly arm around me. Good. This is good—I’m close to his grace now. And this is as good as it gets until Dad gives me access to mine again.

“Will you really be satisfied if you don’t get into Dean’s pants?” I look up at his face.

“I am in Dean’s pants. I wear his sweats or pajama bottoms at night.”

Okay. Count to five. That seems to work for the Winchesters. “Right. I meant—look, you sure you’re okay getting closer to him without having sex?”

“Yes. I told Sam the truth. Hedonism is just a bonus.”

“All right. Dean’s going to balk a little, but—yeah. I think we can get him to accept you as some kind of ace boyfriend. From there, we’ll just have to see. But you need to talk to him. And the sooner the better.”

“What?” He stiffens up. “Why?”

“Because you two have wasted enough time.” I snort. “He’s human, Castiel. He doesn’t live forever. And, trust me, you don’t want to be trying to establish this once he’s dead and in heaven. It’s even harder for them to change up there.”

“I think he’ll be with Sam in heaven.”

“Probably. But you’re an angel. An angel in good standing with Dad, so you’ll have free access to their heaven for as long as it lasts. So don’t worry.”

“As long as it lasts?” He pushes away from me, his face all wide-eyed and alarmed. “What does that mean?”

Shit. How did I forget that he’s only a seraph? He’s never gotten a glimpse of the whole picture. “It doesn’t mean anything bad. I swear it, Castiel. Don’t worry. It’s just—look, you didn’t really think that Dad had no further plans for the apes, did you? That He’d just keep them in their own tiny little worlds up there forever and ever?”

“I . . . I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, that’s not the plan. Trust me on that. Anyway, Dean’ll be back here soon. Once he knows that Sam’s done talking to me, he won’t want to leave me to my own devices. So you’re going to take the wheel again. And you’re going to bring this up.”

“But, Lucifer—I can’t. I don’t know how.”

“You’ll think of something.”

“No! You . . . you have to tell me what to say. You know how this works.”

“Maybe. But Dean loves you, little brother. Not me.”

“But you—you know how to say things and . . . and not sound like I do.”

I feel a surge of anger. Not at him, but at humanity in general, for the way they make anyone who’s not absolutely neurotypical feel inferior. And Castiel is a fucking angel of the Lord! They should be groveling to him. All of them.

“Listen, Castiel, there’s nothing wrong with the way you say things. Or how you think things. And—” Sweet Dad, it kills me to admit this. “Dean feels the same way. That moronic mud monkey at least has the decency to value you as you are.”

“But I don’t know how to talk about this!”

“It doesn’t matter. However you bring it up—look, it’s not going to go well. Not the first time.”

He bites his lip. “Then I won’t say anything.”

“Yes, you will. This is just a way to open up negotiations.” Damn. I almost wish Crowley were here. Yes, that piece of ambitious slime deserves an eternity in the dog kennel, but he’s useful for explaining things like this. “You make the first move. Dean probably turns you down.”

“Then what?”

“Then the idea’s in his head. And we give Sam a chance to talk some sense into him. So a little patience and . . . we’ll see.”

“But—” Castiel stops. He pushes me aside and sits up straight. “Dean’s coming. Lucifer, he’s walking into the room now!”

“Shh.” I push myself up a little. “Don’t worry. You’re ready for this.”

“But—”

“Enough, Castiel. If you can’t think of anything else, just ask him out to dinner. Just the two of you.”

“Like a date?”

“Yes, like a date. Ready?”

Dad help us. He’s ghost white as he shakes his head.

“You’re fine, Castiel. You’ll do fine.” I suck in a lung’s worth of air. “Now take the wheel and open your eyes.”

Somehow he manages a nod.

I nod back and try to brace myself. Dad only knows what’s going to pop out of my little brother’s mouth.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean puts his hand on our vessel’s shoulder and shakes it a little. Shakes us awake, I mean.

Castiel opens his eyes.

That brings a smile to Dean. A genuine, heartfelt, almost sickeningly warm smile. He can tell that my little brother is behind the wheel. He can tell right away.

He gets points for that. Dean Winchester could grow on me, I think. Both Winchesters might. Why not? I don’t actually hate them. Well, not more than I hate humanity in general. All right. They annoy the fuck out of me, and I want to smite them to hell and back. But real hatred—no. I reserve that for contemptible creatures like Crowley.

Meanwhile—right. Time to help my little brother get what he actually wants here.

“I know Sam told you to heal up.” Dean squeezes our shoulder before releasing it. “Glad you took his advice.”

Castiel pushes himself up and gives him a shy smile in return. “I wasn’t sure you would approve. We’re supposed to let Lucifer experience human fragility.”

“Yeah, but you know what? It’s not fair to you. Hell, it’s not even fair to him. Not in this case.” Dean pauses to shrug. “At the end of the day, Lucifer just mouthed off. We don’t beat people up for that.”

My little brother swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up straight. “He mouthed off with an implicit threat to Sam and your mother.”

“Oh, I heard.” Dean sits down on his own bed, facing us.

There’s not much space between the two beds, not really. It just barely fits the chair, which is off to the side now anyway.

“Sam’s his vessel through our mother’s line,” Dean continues. “Awesome. Fucking awesome.”

“But my brother will relinquish any claim to Sam. Or to Mary.”

“Sure he will. If he can bunk with you forever and ever. And since when are you two all brother-like?”

“Technically, we’ve always been brothers.”

“Really?” Dean snorts. “Because I remember him disintegrating you, man.”

“Sam said that too. But things are different now.”

“What? You actually trust Lucifer?”

“No. Not without our Father’s protection. But . . . it is hard to share a vessel with someone and not draw closer.”

Dean leans forward. “Yeah? Well I don’t want you sharing a vessel with him forever.”

“Even if that means he’ll never have to bother Sam or Mary or any other human for one?”

That shuts Dean up. Of course it does. Sam will always come first in Dean’s mind.

Castiel reaches out and puts a hand on his knee. Well, well. Smooth, little brother. Very smooth.

“Dean, God gave us a mission: to help Lucifer become humanity’s guide. That role requires him to remain on earth. And I . . . I have a vessel that will hold the both of us. This is the best solution.”

“We might fail, you know. In which case it’ll be best for everyone if Lucifer hangs out in heaven and keeps the hell away from earth.”

Castiel smiles again. “I think it will be very hard to keep Lucifer away from here. Even for God.”

Dean just grunts. He’s aware of Castiel’s hand on his knee. Those green eyes of his—a more tenacious green than his brother’s—keep darting back and forth from it. But he’s not pushing Castiel away. Not yet.

“Uh, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Um—never mind. So, ah, you’re feeling better, right?”

“Yes. Better enough that I . . . I would like to ask you something.”

Ah. Here we go.

“Okay.” Dean sounds apprehensive. Interesting. He must have an inkling of what’s coming.  “What’s up?”

Castiel breathes in deep. So deep it feels like one of our lungs might explode. “I would like to take you out to dinner tonight.”

“To dinner? Yeah, sure.” Dean pastes on a grin. “The English Men of Letters are off our backs. At least for a little while. So we can show our faces. And, hey, we can all use a night out. Let’s see if Sammy and my mom want to go—”

Castiel hesitates as Dean blabs on.

All right. Time for me to intervene. “Go on, little brother. Tell him you want to take just him out. As in a date.”

“Dean, I—no! I want to take you out. Just you.”

“Just me?” Dean glances down at Castiel’s hand again, which is still on his knee. He still doesn’t move it. “Yeah, that’s fine. It’ll be good to hang out, just the two of us.”

“But I don’t want to hang out.” Castiel is wide-eyed and utterly earnest. “I want this to be a date.”

Dean tries to laugh that off. “Come on, man. You know I don’t do chick-flick moments.”

My little brother takes his hand off of Dean’s knee. Then he just sort of sits there, hanging his head.

Dean, meanwhile, is standing up now. “I think it was Mom’s turn to cook. I’ll tell her not to worry about you and me tonight.”

He keeps talking, but I focus on Castiel. “Stop him. If he’s going to turn you down, you deserve a straight answer.”

“Please, Dean, stop. Please . . . please listen to me.”

Dean had been heading for the door, but he turns around at that. “Yeah?”

Castiel freezes. He’s sitting there, staring at Dean, completely frozen.

Oh, for the love of—I nudge him. “Come on. You can do this.”

He swallows. Hard. “Dean, I—please. I know you’re going to turn me down. But I still deserve a straight answer.”

Dean sighs, but he leans back against the door and nods his head. “Okay. Go ahead, Cas.”

“I would like to go on a date with you. It needn’t be hedonistic. At all. Even if you were my SO, I would not demand sexual relations, though I would enjoy them—”

“Your SO!” Dean’s the one who’s wide-eyed now.

“Yes.” Castiel favors him with a grave nod. “That means significant other.”

Dean shuts his eyes for a second. “I know what it means. But Cas . . . look, I don’t get this. If you don’t care about, uh, hedonism, why are you even asking me out? We can just stay as we are, dude. We’re good as we are.”

Castiel stands up and takes a step toward him. Just a step. “Because—because I love you.”

“I know.” Dean swallows. And for a second—just a second—he doesn’t bother to disguise the longing in his eyes.

Did Castiel see that? Yes, but he doesn’t know how to interpret it. He doesn’t quite recognize that kind of heat and desire. Dean wants him. Or he wants to be with him, at least. But he has too many idiotic human issues to admit as much.

“I love you too,” Dean says instead. “You know that, don’t you? Even if I’ve never actually said it. You’re my best friend. You’re my family. You’re my brother.  I’m closer to you than to anyone in the world, except for Sam.”

“But, Dean, I love you as . . . as something even more than a friend. And different than a brother.”

Now Dean looks like a dear that’s about to become roadkill. He swears under his breath. Well, not quite under his breath, because Castiel and I both hear the single word he utters: “Fuck.”

My little brother deflates.

I nudge him again—figuratively speaking. “Don’t give up. We’re playing a long game here. We expected early losses.”

“Dean.” Castiel forces himself to smile. “It’s . . . it’s okay.”

“Look, Cas. I’m not a good bet. I’m fucked up in so many ways, I don’t even know where to start.”

Castiel blinks. “And you think I’m un-fucked up?”

Dean lets out a surprised laugh. “No. But me and, you know, romantic relationships—we don’t ever work out. Besides, you can do way better than me.”

“I’m not looking for anyone else.”

“Well, you should be. And—”

A siren blares, cutting Dean off. A siren inside the Bunker I mean. A painfully loud, shrieking siren. What the hell?

Castiel gulps. “The British Men of Letters?”

“Probably.” Dean laughs again—a bitter laugh this time—as he starts out the door. “So much for our truce.”


	11. Chapter 11

“What’s going on?” Mary glances at Castiel and grips her shotgun a little tighter. I don’t think she knows if it’s him or me behind the wheel. Assuming she likes him any better than she likes me.

“Not sure yet.” Sam’s looking around the room, trying to figure out what set off the blinking lights and the siren. “It’s not a fire alarm. I know that much.”

“But we have no idea what the hell it is?” Dean shakes his head. “Awesome.”

“I’m pretty sure it means there’s an intruder. But no one broke in.”

We’re all in the main room of the Bunker. The part with all the research tables. Dean and Castiel—with me riding shotgun—seem to have arrived at the same time as Mary. Sam, I suppose, was already here.

Sam tosses out some theories as the siren keeps blaring and the lights keep flashing. Dean pulls bags of salt out of a little cubby hole in the corner of the room. Mary paces back and forth with the gun. But Cas is standing stock still. Not because he’s crushed by his conversation with Dean. No, he’s shifting his consciousness around the entire bunker.

And me? I’m useless. _Dad, give me access to my grace. Just long enough to do something here._

Nothing. I get only silence. Thank you, Dad. You’re really coming through for me.

But then the siren stops blaring and the lights stop blinking.

“What the fuck—” Sam cuts himself off and throws an embarrassed glance at his mother.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t give a shit if you curse. But why did everything stop?”

“Because the intruder is gone,” Castiel says. “Someone was here. Not physically—it was an astral projection."

“Who?” Dean looks furious. “One of those English Men of Letters?”

“Or Women of Letters,” Mary puts in.

“Yes.” Castiel nods. “I only caught a glimpse of him before he retreated, but I believe it was Jonathan Bevell.”

Sam sighs. “The late Toni Bevell’s uncle-in-law. Or something like that.”

Toni Bevell. Oh yes—the woman I killed by manifesting here in my true form. Well, she shouldn’t have shot one of my apes.

Dean slams his fist down on a table. “We had a truce!”

“Maybe we still do,” Sam says. “We knew they were going to try to keep an eye on us. I guess they didn’t know the Bunker has this, ah, alarm system rigged for astral projections.”

Our vessel is still stock still. All right, that’s weird. Even Castiel isn’t usually this stiff.

“What’s the matter, little brother?”

He answers out loud. “Someone is still here.”

Sam looks over at him. “Another astral projection? Why didn’t the alarm stay on?”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head. “I—I don’t understand what I’m seeing.”

“Describe it to me,” I tell him.

He keeps talking out loud. “Lucifer, it’s a human. He’s not here physically—but he’s not in the astral realm either.”

“Is he a ghost?”

“No, definitely not a ghost.” Castiel is still talking out loud. “This doesn’t make sense!”

He’s right. It doesn’t—oh. Wait. _Dad, I really, really need my grace back right now. I can help them all out if I have my grace!_

Fuck. Still nothing. “Okay, little brother. Does he look normal to you? Are you seeing him the way we do, with our grace? You can see the shards of his soul?”

Dean’s staring at us. “Cas, what’s going on? Does Lucifer know what we’re dealing with?”

“I’m not sure yet, Dean. And yes, Lucifer, I can see the shards of his soul. But he's—he’s not constant. He’s swirling, then fading, then growing stronger again. And his colors are . . . odd.”

Okay. I know what's going on. “Do you get any bad vibes from him?”

“No. I do not get, ah, bad vibes. He’s thoroughly human. And he’s not tainted by any evil acts. Well, not any more than a normal human is.”

Dean makes a face. “Normal humans look tainted?”

“Dean!” Sam shakes his head at his older brother to shut him up.

I ignore them both. “Is he reacting to you, Castiel?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure about what?” Dean asks.

“Lucifer wants to know if this stranger is reacting to me. I think he can see me, but I’m not positive.”

“He can see you—and everyone here—but only through a sort of haze.” I pause, trying to figure out how to explain this. “He might be staring at some sort of dream version of you all, though. In which case it’s hard to say what he’s seeing, exactly. Something like reality, but a lot depends on him.”

Castiel cocks his head at Dean, but keeps talking out loud to me. “Lucifer, I don’t understand.”

“Some humans have dreams that are almost like astral projections. But they aren’t astral projections, and the dreamers can slip into places that even astral projections can’t.”

My little brother relays all that to the Winchesters.

“Is the dude doing this on purpose?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Is he a threat?”

Mary takes a deep breath as she checks her gun. “We have to assume that he is.”

“I don’t know if he’s a threat or not,” I tell Castiel. “I’ve never been sure if certain humans dream this way on purpose, or if they just happen to be powerful dreamers.”

When Castiel repeats that, Sam scrunches up his brow. “How does Lucifer know about this?”

I snort. “You know how powerfully warded the Cage was, little brother? A few dreamers slipped in over the centuries. It took me ages to figure out what was going on.”

Castiel tells the Winchesters that.

Sam and Dean exchange glances.

“Can we capture him?” Dean asks. “I want to question him.”

“Dean.” Sam’s voice is stern. “We’re not going to hurt this guy when we don’t even know if he’s our enemy.”

“I’m not talking about torture, Sammy. But we need to interrogate him.” He turns back to Castiel. “Well? What does Lucifer say? Can we capture him in the real world or not?”

Good question. “Yes. If you had your wings and could trace him back to his home base as he wakes up.”

Castiel stiffens. Even more, though I’m not sure how that’s possible. What kind of stick is up our vessel’s ass, exactly? “Lucifer, he’s waking up now!”

Shit. _Dad. Please._

Still nothing.

_Okay, look. If you don’t trust me with my grace and my wings, give both to Castiel._

Fuck me, that works. I can taste the power surging through Castiel’s vessel. But that’s all I can do—I have no control over it. It’s all in Castiel’s hands.

“Listen to me, Castiel. You have my grace and my wings. You can follow this bastard back to wherever he wakes up—”

The words aren’t even out before Castiel takes off. I can’t see what he’s seeing—not without any grace—but he must have his eyes on the shards of the man’s soul. We’re soaring through the celestial realm and then . . . we land hard back on earth.

All right. We’re in some trendy little apartment. At a guess, we’re on the East Coast. Probably near New York City but not actually in it—this has more the feel of Jersey City or Hoboken than Manhattan or Brooklyn.

The stranger is lying on his couch, just coming to. Right now, I can only see him as a human does. It's like being blind, I swear. But . . . all right. I can still figure out a few things.

He’s Korean, I think. Reasonably good looking. Dressed almost hipster—skinny jeans and such—but not obnoxiously so. And . . . huh. There’s a _Magen David_ around his neck. A Star of David, I mean. Is he a nice Jewish boy, or is he putting that to some kind of occult use? Some alchemists use that symbol.

He doesn’t look much like an alchemist, though.

Whatever he is, he gasps at the sight of Castiel. But my little brother is already touching his fingers to the stranger’s forehead, knocking him out.

I nod in approval. “I guess we take him back to the Bunker first and then come back here and search the apartment?”

“Yes. We’ll need to make sure that he has no hex bags. And we should take his laptop and cell phone.”

“Good plan, little brother. Let’s get going.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Theatregirl7299 for the beta!

Materializing in the Bunker’s research room with this young man slumped over Castiel’s shoulder causes more of a stir than either of us anticipated.

“Cas, what the hell!” Dean looks furious. “What—what just happened?”

“Our Father lent me Lucifer’s grace and wings, so I could apprehend our intruder.”

Sam glances at Dean and then breaks into a wide grin. “Awesome, Cas! That’s awesome.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. But he doesn’t look as thrilled.

What’s up with that? Is he jealous of my little brother’s power? I think back on all my interactions with Dean, including the times I pretended to be Castiel. No jealousy-he never wanted any angelic abilities for himself. He seemed happy enough for Castiel to have them, though. So what’s bothering him about this?

“We need to put that kid down somewhere,” Mary points out. She’s still holding the shotgun, I notice. A practical, capable human, this Mary Winchester. She’d have made a decent vessel.

Dean shrugs. “The dungeon room?”

“That’s kind of harsh.” Sam frowns. “Maybe just—let’s tie him to a chair in here. Will he be out for a while, Cas?”

“Yes. But Lucifer and I should return to his apartment and scour it.”

“I’m coming with you,” Dean says.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Dean, we don’t know when Chuck is going to yank Lucifer’s grace and wings away. What if that happens while you’re in this guy’s apartment?”

“Dude, all the more reason I should be there. Can’t leave Cas by himself to explain things to the authorities.” He walks over to our vessel. “Ready?”

Castiel puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and the three of us soar off.

~~*~~

Dean’s not impressed with the trendy apartment. He shakes his head at all the blacks and whites and angles. And at the strategic splashes of color here and there. “What the fuck?”

“It doesn’t look like a conventional witch’s lair,” Castiel agrees. “Nor the hideout of a Man of Letters.”

Dean grunts as he walks over to the window. He fiddles with the blinds until we’ve got a gorgeous view of the Hudson River and the Manhattan skyline.

All right. We’re definitely in either Jersey City or Hoboken. Probably the latter. I’d be able to pinpoint our location exactly, if I had access to my grace. Fuck. Not that I mind Castiel using it—more power to him. But I do mind being cut off from it.

Dean lets out a low whistle. “This place must cost a fortune.”

Castiel looks around. “It’s very small.”

“Doesn’t matter, Cas. This guy’s got money. Or a trust fund.”

My little brother looks around again, uncertain. “It’s a pretty apartment, and I like the view, but I wouldn’t pay a fortune to live here.”

I roll my eyes. “Remind me never to recommend a career in real estate for you.”

Dean—who can’t hear me—just smiles at his naivete. “Why don’t you look for hex bags while I—”

We disappear in a blur, only to re-materialize a second later.

“—never mind.”

“I have his laptop, cell phone and a few other items of interest,” Castiel announces. “Are you ready to return?”

“Just a second.” Dean digs his hands into his jean pockets. “Is Lucifer around?”

“He’s always around, Dean. We’re sharing a vessel.”

“Yeah, but, is he—uh, awake?”

“Yes. He doesn’t think I should work in real estate.”

Dean snorts. “He’s not wrong. Meanwhile—look, Cas. It’s awesome that you were, you know, able to do this. Capture this guy, I mean. And search his place. But it’s not a good idea for you to get all cozy with Lucifer and his grace.”

There’s a smile tugging at our vessel. I can feel Castiel trying to fight it. And failing. “Dean, Lucifer is my brother. I don’t mind sharing my vessel with him—or his grace—under our current arrangement. But you’re the one I want to get cozy with.”

I bite back a laugh. Very nice. He’s got Winchester all flustered now.

“But I’m—you know I’m straight.”

“I know you identify as such.”

Excellent answer. Keep it up, little brother.

Dean rolls his eyes. “You know what? I’m not talking about this. Not with Lucifer around.”

Castiel is genuinely confused. “Why not? He already knows how I feel about you.”

“Did he put you up to this? He did, didn’t he? Come on, Cas. It was either him or Sammy.”

“I, ah . . . they’re both aware of my intentions.”

“Both of them!” Dean’s eyes widen in panic. “You mean they’re both in on this?”

“There’s nothing to be ‘in on,’ Dean!” My little brother is getting frustrated now. “I asked you on a date, with no intimacy required. Just a date to see if we would both be open to exploring a romantic but asexual relationship.”

“Dude, there’s no such thing.”

“Yes there is! Romance doesn’t have to be about sex.”

Listen to Castiel standing up for himself. Yes, that’s a bit of pride I’m feeling.

“Cas—okay. We need to table this. And you need to get out more, man. Maybe meet other people who are into this whole asexual thing of yours. And who maybe aren’t as fucked up as me.”

“I’m not looking to date anyone else—”

“Enough, Cas. We’ll talk about it later. For now, let’s just get back to the bunker.”

I yawn as my brother complies. I’m still exhausted—fuck, that would never happen if I had my grace. And it’s so close! I can feel it and taste it swirling around Castiel. _Really, Dad? Do You know what You’re doing to me here?_

But no time to dwell on that. Castiel’s hand is back on Dean’s shoulder, and a second later we’re back in the Bunker.

~~*~~

“The security on this guy’s laptop is only mediocre.” Sam is hunched over the object in question. “I’m pretty sure I can get in.”

We’re all back in the research room. Our captive is chained to a chair, a little ways from the table. We haven’t seen his reaction to that yet—he’s still out cold. Dean, meanwhile, is looking through his wallet. Mary is standing guard again with her shotgun. I’m sitting next to Sam, but facing away from him so I can stretch out my legs.

Yes, Castiel gave me the wheel back. He insisted that it was my turn, especially since I know something about the special kind of dreaming our guest is capable of. In reality, though, my little brother is too frustrated and demoralized to go another round with Dean right now.

I’m frustrated and demoralized too, but for an entirely different reason. I can still sense my grace swirling in and around this vessel. Dad hasn’t yanked it back yet. But I can’t access it. I know it’s there, just waiting for me, but I can’t use it. This is like having the most painful hard on you can imagine and no opportunity to masturbate.

“Well, I think I got a name for our friend,” Dean says, holding up a driver’s license. “You’re not going to believe this: Noah Lee Feldman."

Mary’s eyes widen. Sam lets out a surprised sort of grunt.

But I just shrug. “That explains the Star of David around his neck. At least now we know it’s not for occult purposes.”

“Seriously, Lucifer?” Dean gives me a look. “How many Jewish Koreans—or whatever brand of Asian he is—do you think there are?”

Sam looks up from his laptop.“Actually, Dean, more than you’d guess.”

Mary furrows her brow. “It is a religion, right? Not a race.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “And Rufus was Jewish, remember? It’s not like his family came from Poland.”

“Dude, he probably converted.”

“We don’t know that. But even if he did—okay, so, maybe this guy converted too.”

Dean scoffs. “Then he wouldn’t have a last name like Feldman.”

“Huh.” Sam deflates a little. “Good point. But why would he pick that for a fake name?”

I roll my eyes. How do these apes function on their own? “There are a ton of Korean adoptees in America. I understand that’s a controversial practice now, but it probably wasn’t when he was born. So my guess is he was adopted as an infant by an American Jewish family.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then Dean breaks into a grin and tips an imaginary hat at me. “Okay, that’s our working theory.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees.

“Glad to be of service. But we still can’t rule out occult connections—look at his collection of Tarot cards.” Castiel found them when he swept through the apartment.

Dean seats himself on the edge of the table. “Yeah. Between those and the dreaming—I don’t know. He might not be with the Men of Letters, but he’s something.”

“I’m in,” Sam says. “Let’s see what we have here—lot of files. Mostly documents. Oh, these are articles. Stuff he’s written, I think.”

“On what?” Mary asks.

“Uh, all different topics. I think he must be selling them—yeah, he’s a freelance writer.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Does he make enough money on that to afford that apartment?”

“I don’t know, man. I’d probably have to go to his online banking to find out, and that’s going to take different passcodes.”

Mary shifts her weight and then straightens up again. “Sam, are those articles on the occult? Or dreaming?”

“No, more ordinary stuff. Entertainment news, reviews, some how-tos and tips for specialized word-processing programs. Lot of social justice warrior stuff.”

“Social justice warrior?” Mary looks confused.

“Bleeding heart, save-the-world, political correctness—all that crap,” Dean explains.

“Dude! It’s not crap.” Sam chides him. “It’s good stuff. And necessary.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t!”

“Whatever. Hey, there are a couple of things about Korean adoptees, so you’re probably right, Lucifer. Oh and . . . huh. Some of these articles are, ah, sex-oriented.”

Dean’s interested now. “Sex oriented?”

“Yeah. He’s an advocate for bisexual representation. And poly representation. Uh, aromantic representation too.”

“Aromantic?” Dean cocks his head at his brother. “What the hell is that?”

“I think it’s, like, when you’re more into friendship than falling in love. Oh, here we go. Yeah, he says in this article, which he published under his own name, that he’s bi, poly and aro. And all that doesn’t mean you can’t commit. He chooses not to, but that’s on him.”

Mary’s half-laughing and half rolling her eyes. I doubt her generation had these discussions.

But Dean’s actually checking Noah out. “Bi, poly and aro, huh? And the dude’s okay looking. He’s no John Cho, but I bet he does pretty well.”

I smile at Dean. “So John Cho is your type? I applaud your taste.”

“Fuck you, man. That’s not what I meant! I’m straight.”

Sam, I notice, has to smother a grin. “I’m starting to see where your thing for _Busty Asian Beauties_ comes from.”

“ _Busty Asian Beauties_? Seriously? You so should not fetishize us that way.”

All of our mouths drop open. That was Noah. And he looks genuinely put out with Dean.

Huh. So the bastard has been faking unconsciousness. If I had hold of my grace, I’d have known that.

Dean glares at him. “How the fuck long have you been awake?”

He shrugs—as much as he can with those chains, anyway. “Long enough to hear about your Asian fetish.”

“I don’t have a—Jesus Christ.” He turns back to Sam. “You know what? Kevin never once criticized my choice in porn.”

Mary raises her eyebrows at the exact same moment that Dean remembers she’s there.

“Er, magazines, I mean. Kevin never criticized my choice in magazines. Magazines with, um, awesome articles.”

“Who’s Kevin?” Noah asks.

“An Asian-American friend of ours,” Sam explains. “Real close friend. Like family.”

“Is he here?”

“No.” Dean shakes his head. “He’s dead.”

Noah’s face falls. “Oh. Sorry, man. Look, if your Asian boyfriend died, you can fetishize us a little.”

“Kevin was not my—you know what? We’re asking the questions here. Starting with why you dreamed your way over here.”

“Oh.” He bites his lip. “Ah, that’s kind of complicated. Can we start with something simpler? I’d be happy to explain aromanticism to you.”

Dean pushes himself off the table and walks over to Noah. Then he crouches in front of him, putting them eye to eye. “We need to know about the dreaming. Now. So start talking.”


	13. Chapter 13

Noah meets Dean’s eyes. Neither of them flinch.

“What happens if I refuse?” Noah asks.

Dean doesn’t have a ready made answer. He sighs instead. “Well, for starters, you can get used to those chains.”

“Meaning you’ll keep me right here. Like, exactly right here, chained to this chair?” He makes a show of looking around the room, taking in the research tables and bookshelves and 1940s paraphernalia.

“Yeah, right here.” Dean squints at him. “What?”

“You going to let me piss myself?”

“No! Dude, we don’t need you stinking up the place.”

Mary stifles a laugh. She still has her hands on the shotgun, though.

“Okay.” Noah nods. Slowly, like he’s thinking this through. “You going to feed me?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You want to know exactly what you’re in for? Just captivity. Torture is off the table—for now. So is beating the crap out of you or starving you.”

“Ah, no torture for now?”

“Yeah. No promises about the future, though. Not yet.”

“So if I don’t talk, you are going to torture me?”

“Depends on what we find out about you on our own. And trust me, we’ll find stuff out.”

Interesting. I narrow my eyes at Dean, trying to determine how much of that is truth. From what I’ve heard, he became quite the accomplished torturer in hell. A combination of natural talent and intense study under a supporter of mine, no doubt. But he repented topside and jumped on the anti-torture bandwagon.

So is he just mind-fucking our captive? I nudge Castiel to find out.

Castiel doesn’t respond. It’s a stiff and awkward non-response, though. Yes, yes—my little brother is always stiff and awkward. But this is different. It’s as if he knows the answer, but disapproves of it.

Well, well. So the Righteous Man has deviated from the straight and narrow. He’s not above torture anymore. I can’t decide if I like him better for that.

Wait, does that mean I like him in the first place? Probably. There’s no constant itch to snap my fingers and disintegrate him—not anymore. The itch is far less frequent. So I suppose he’s grown on me.

“Another thing.” Sam suddenly speaks up. He stands up, too, so that Noah can see what a giant he is. “Don’t think we’re going to let you stay here just so you can spy on us.”

“Yeah.” Dean is still crouching in front of the chair as he nods. “Our friend over there in the trench coat can stop that dream thing of yours. Uh, I mean, his brother can.”

Oh yeah. At some point before we grabbed Noah, Castiel mojo’d us back into our trench coat. Better than capturing him in our pajamas. And classier.

Noah looks my way and swallows. “You’re the one who came after me.”

“That was actually my brother, though he had my help.” Both my grace and my wings, thank you. Good that one of us can use them.

He looks me up and down. “Then you must be twins.”

I just smile.

“How did you do that?” Our captive friend looks genuinely impressed. Not scared at all—I think he would be scared of this entire situation, but his curiosity keeps getting the better of him. “I’ve seen some weird shit, but you—you weren’t dream-following me. You were actually there. You just—materialized in my apartment. Like someone teleported you there. Or beamed you in. Or beamed in your brother, I mean.”

“Hey!” Dean snaps at him to get his attention back. “We’re asking the questions, remember? You didn’t just randomly dream your way here. Who are you working for?”

Noah takes a deep breath. “All right. I’ll tell you what I know—but there’s a condition.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Keep me captive. Like I haven’t told you anything. Hell—” He breaks off to shake his head a little and muster up a grin. “You can even beat the crap out of me for authenticity. Just, you know, maybe skip the actual torture.”

Sam and Dean exchange looks. Long looks. Some sort of communication passes between them, but without my grace I can’t quite interpret it.

“You want to make it look like we’re keeping you chained up? And like you haven’t talked yet?” Dean finally straightens up so he can stare down at Noah.

Noah, for his part, just nods. “Yes. Those are my my terms.”

Sam folds his arms over his chest. “So you think someone’s watching this place? Someone who can hurt you? Or someone you care about?”

“No. Not right now. I wouldn’t have said that out loud if I thought they were in here now. But they’ll find a way. Trust me.” He pauses to look at each of us in turn: Dean first, then Mary, then me and then Sam. It’s a measuring look, but with another heavy dose of curiosity—as if each of us fascinates him in a different way. Or as if he’s contemplating fucking each of us.

I don’t mean screwing us over—I mean literally fucking each of us. He seems to have broad tastes. And in the face of possible new fuck-buddies, he seems to forget to be afraid.

“So do we have a deal?”

Dean hesitates, but at length he nods. “Yeah. We have a deal.”

~~*~~

Sam decides to feed our captive before we continue the interrogation. He disappears into the kitchen. Mary sits down near Noah—but not so near that he can reach her if he somehow slips his chains. And, yes, she still has the gun. She won't trust him yet, but she's willing to talk with him. And he seems happy about that. I don't think he's the quiet type.

Dean collapses in the chair next to me.

I’m surprised, but I don’t object. Now I can indulge my curiosity. “Would you really have tortured him?”

He glances at Noah and then shrugs. “I don’t know. Why? You disappointed?”

“Good question.” I give it due consideration before I muster up an honest response. “No. I actually prefer to humiliate my opponents.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re not going to put a dog collar around his neck.”

“Are you sure? I’d treat him much better than I treated Crowley. I’d spoil him instead of punishing him.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m sure.”

“That’s all right.” I let out a practiced sigh. “Like you said, he’s no John Cho—but he’s still attractive. I could put him to better use.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “What?” His voice is a harsh whisper now. “No way. Not while you’re in Cas.”

I’m going to get myself another busted nose out of this if I’m not careful. But why should that stop me? “Actually, Dean, I’m thinking in terms of my little brother right now. Noah would be perfect for him to practice on.”

“What the—no!”

Castiel seems to agree with Dean’s assessment. I can feel him panicking.

 _It’s all right. I know what I’m doing_. Somehow that doesn’t reassure him.

“Why not?” I ask Dean. “You told him yourself that he should get out more. Meet other people. Give up on you—remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” He balls his hands into fists. I don’t think he’s aware of it, but he does. “But I meant some civilian—not someone who might be our enemy! And you know that.”

“Even without my grace I’m a decent judge of character. I don’t think Noah’s our enemy.”

“Doesn’t matter. Trust me, Cas is . . . he’s not ready for someone like him. Jesus, Noah would eat him alive. And Cas doesn’t even want sex.”

Oh for—why is it so difficult for Dean to comprehend this? “Castiel likes sex, Dean. It’s just not important to him, and he doesn’t feel the need to hump everything in sight the way some of you apes do.”

“You know what? I’m pretty sure Noah’s on Team Hump-Everything.”

I grin. “Yes. So he can teach Castiel a thing or two. And since Noah’s an aromantic commitment-phobe, there won’t be any messy entanglements.”

“Yeah. Unless Cas falls for him. Brilliant fucking idea.”

Jealous much? “Don’t worry, Dean. He’s far too in love with you for that.”

Castiel is in a full blown panic now. I roll my eyes. _Please, little brother. It’s not like Dean didn’t know_.

“He’s not—” Dean stops himself. Presumably before he explodes. “Look, however he feels about me—and whatever the fuck I said about him meeting other people—I’m not going to let him do anything with Noah. Same goes for you while you’re in his vessel.”

“Dean—”

“I mean it, Lucifer.”

“Are you about to bash my face in the way Sam did?”

He glances down at his fists. Then he blushes and shakes out his fingers. “No. I wouldn’t do that. Not over this.”

“Then how do you intend to stop me?”

“I could lock you in my room.”

“Really, Dean? The time out threat again?” I laugh. It’s a low, quiet laugh, but it still serves its purpose. “I survived the Cage. I think I can handle your room.”

“This isn’t about punishment. This is about—about enforced celibacy, I guess. 'Cause I’m not trusting you with Cas’s body.”

“Chastity.”

“Huh?”

“Celibacy means not marrying. Chastity means going without sex.”

“Fine. Enforced chastity, then.”

I sit up straight and fold my hands on the table. “You can’t lock Castiel in your room—especially now. He still has my wings. And he doesn’t deserve that anyway. If he decides to experiment with some shiny new human, that’s up to him.”

“It’s not up to him! Not with you tempting him to—”

“Dean, Castiel is a big boy. He’s more than capable of resisting my advice.” I make a point of glancing at Noah. “We’ll just have to see, in this case, if he wants to.”


	14. Chapter 14

“So tell us what your deal is.” Dean is standing right in front of Noah, arms folded across his chest.

Noah smiles up at him. He looks more comfortable now—he’s still in that chair off to the side, but only one foot and one wrist are chained. Sam freed him up so that he could eat his meal without assistance. Dean wanted him completely secured again when he finished, but everyone else objected.

Yes, even me. Hell, I advocated for more freedom. Why not? Castiel can protect our apes if he tries anything stupid. Besides, I still want Noah to hook up with my little brother and show him the ropes. That will provide some entertainment for me while driving Dean crazy with jealousy at the same time. Win-win.

“My deal,” Noah says slowly, “is that I’m a really talented and skilled dreamer.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we gathered that.”

“And we have more questions about that kind of dreaming,” Sam puts in. He’s sitting in a chair just to the side of Noah, turned so that he’s facing him. “But the most important thing we need to know is who you’re working for.”

“An English group of mystics. They call themselves the Men of Letters.”

Sam and Dean exchange glances. “So you are one of them,” Sam says.

But Noah shakes his head. “No. I don’t even know much about them. I got, um, loaned to them.”

“Loaned to them?” Dean stares down at him. “By who?”

“The Order. But I don’t belong to them either. Not anymore.”

“Wait, what is the order?” That was Mary. Her gun is down now and she’s looking much more relaxed.

“Sorry,” Noah answers. "The Order of Visionary Dreamers. Usually we just call them the Order, though. They cut the deal with the Men of Letters.”

“But—I don’t get it.” Sam cocks his head at Noah. “If you don’t belong to this order, how’d they have the power to loan you out?”

“And do you belong to anyone?” Dean asks.

Noah summons up another smile for him—a teasing, flirtatious one this time.

“Any group,” Dean corrects himself. “I meant do you belong to any of these mystical groups.”

Noah gives up on the teasing and flirting. “Yeah. I’m part of House Pavus, which is an offshoot of the Order. An independent offshoot.”

Sam looks him up and down. “So the Order—what’s that about? Some kind of Golden Dawn thing?”

“Sort of.” Noah bites his lip, like he’s considering how best to explain it. “They’re into Alchemy, Tarot, rituals—all that crap. Well,not crap, but you know what I mean. They take it all real seriously. But they’re not usually trying to cast spells in the real world. It’s all about what you can do while you’re dreaming.”

“Wait,” Dean says. “You said your group—House Pavus?—is independent?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. So let’s go back to Sam’s question. How did the Order have the power to loan you out to the Men of Letters, when you belong to this other group?”

Noah sighs. “My parents belong to the Order—”

“Your biological parents?” Dean interrupts.

“No.” He doesn’t look offended by the question. “I never found them. My adopted parents.”

“Are they Jewish Americans?”

“Yeah. You guys totally guessed right on that.”

Dean nods, looking satisfied. “Okay.”

“Anyway my older brother—um, my adopted older brother. He’s the biological son of our parents.” Noah pauses and, for the first time, his face grows serious. “Look, I’m not close to my folks. Not anymore. But Daniel—we’re not biologically related, but he’s my real brother.”

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. “Family don’t end with blood. We get that.”

“Yeah,” Noah says. “Anyway, Danny used to belong to the Order too. But he’s with me at House Pavus now. But the Order . . . look, it’s hard to explain since you guys aren’t familiar with this dreaming stuff. The problem is that the Order still has a hold over Danny. They could seriously fuck him up without too much effort. To stop that from happening, I had to go do this favor for the Men of Letters.”

“On the Order’s behalf,” Mary says.

“Yeah.” Noah nods at her.

“Huh.” Dean shakes his head. “So the Order basically blackmailed you.”

Noah grunts. “Yup. That’s how they roll.”

“So why are your parents still with them?’ Sam still has his hand on Noah’s shoulder. And he’s peering at him with genuine concern on his face. “Especially if they’re threatening your brother?”

“They’re all wrapped up in the Order. And they don’t see what the Order wants to do as a threat to Danny. They think it’ll protect him. But it won’t—it’ll just . . . it’ll be like imprisoning him.”

“Where’s this Danny now?” Dean asks. “Did he know you were doing this?”

Noah’s eyes widen in alarm. “Hell no. He’d never have let me try something like this. Especially not for the Order.” He pauses. “Look, this is why you have to make it look like I haven’t told you anything. I’m supposed to be fulfilling the Order’s deal with the Men of Letters. If either group finds out that I told you all this stuff—”

“They’ll go after your brother,” Sam finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

Dean looks at me. “Well? What do you think of his story?”

I push out of my chair and walk over to Dean. For a long moment, I just stand there, studying Noah.

“Well?” Dean nudges me with his elbow.

“He’s being honest, I think. But I’d like for me and Castiel to question him together.”

Sam lets go of Noah’s shoulder. “Ah, how do you intend to make that happen?”

Noah looks confused. “Why would it be hard?”

“That’s . . . a little difficult to explain,” Sam answers.

Dean looks up at the ceiling and then back down at Noah. Somewhere along the way, he seems to reach a decision. “This is, ah, Luce. His brother is Castiel. They’re angels, and they share the same human vessel.”

No one says a word. I think the other Winchesters are both too stunned that Dean just volunteered that information. And I’m too busy trying to decide if I like my new nickname.

“Dean—” Sam’s voice sounds weirdly strangled.

“What?” Dean just shrugs. “The English dudes already know that we have angels on our side.”

As for our captive—his mouth is hanging open. He’s going to start drooling if he doesn’t pull himself together.

Fortunately, he does. He looks around the room again. “Ah, okay. I knew that I was here to try and spy on Sam and Dean Winchester.” He pauses to look at each in turn. “I’m guessing you’re Sam and you’re Dean?”

The boys answer simultaneously. “Yeah.”

His eyes travel to their mother. “I don’t know who you are.”

She looks at Dean before answering. “You can call me Mary.”

“Okay.” Noah takes a deep breath and then turns to me. “So . . . angels?”

I crouch down, putting myself at eye level with him. “You’re a smart enough boy. How else do you think Castiel followed you, physically manifested in your room, and pulled you back here?”

“I don’t know.” He swallows. “But I’m pretty sure there’s some other answer. You know, aside from angelic powers.”

Dean scoffs. “Don’t be too sure.”

“It doesn’t matter if you believe in angels or not,” I point out. “You’re still going to have a chat with my brother and me. Now, you said that you’re a talented and skilled dreamer. Does that mean you can fall asleep and dream on command?”

“Of course.” He lets out an indignant huff. “And I can control my dreams or even travel in the waking world.”

“Which is how you intended to spy on us,” Sam says.

“Yeah.”

Sam’s not satisfied yet. “And traveling like that—that’s somehow different than astral projection?”

“Um, that’s what people say,” Noah answers. “I don’t know how to astrally project myself anywhere, so I’m not sure how different.” He turns back to me. “But really? Angels?”

I grin. He really would make an amusing pet. And I wasn’t lying to Dean—I’d treat him much better than I treated Crowley. “Never mind what species I am. Right now you’re going to close your eyes and fall asleep. My brother and I will meet you in the, ah, dreaming.”

“Wait!” Dean grabs my arm. “How do you know he’s not going to dream himself somewhere else? Maybe talk to the people in this Order—”

“I won’t.” There’s a surprising firmness in Noah’s voice.

“Castiel can stop him if he tries.” At least I think he can. All right. I’m not a hundred percent sure.

Noah looks around the room, resting his gaze on each of us in turn. Then he closes his eyes and lets his body go limp.

I roll my eyes back, giving up control of the vessel. Dean still has hold of my arm—he’ll catch this body if it falls. Meanwhile, Castiel and I have an appointment to keep. 


	15. Chapter 15

“Has it occurred to you, Lucifer, that we don’t dream?”

I open my eyes and glance over at my little brother, who’s standing in the middle of his mind palace version of the Bunker’s kitchen. Sweet Dad, is that snark I hear in his voice? Along with the ever-present gravel? p>

It definitely is. I feel a tinge of pride. “Yes, Castiel, it has occurred to me.” 

Of course it’s occurred to me. That’s why I’m not absolutely certain that we can keep Noah’s dream-self in check. Or even grab it before he rushes off somewhere. 

Castiel lets out a grunt of frustration. “I don’t see him.”

“You spotted him once. Scan the whole Bunker—the real Bunker, not just your safe-place version.” 

“I am, but—” He breaks off, gets that constipated look, and stretches out his arm. The next thing I know Noah is standing there with Castiel’s hand on his shoulder.

I smile appreciatively. “See? I knew we’d keep him from running.”

Castiel glares at me, fully cognizant of the fact that I had nothing to do with holding the human here.

“I wasn’t trying to run. I just couldn’t find you.” Noah looks us each over in turn. “Ah, either of you. So . . . I really don’t get this. You’re twins that share a body?”

No, I still haven’t reverted to Nick’s form. That still takes a conscious effort on my part, but it’s worth it. Castiel’s vessel is mine now. I look like him. Minus the constipated expression, of course.

“We’re angels who share the same human vessel,” Castiel says, repeating his beloved master almost word for word.

Noah glances back and forth between us. “Vessel?”

“His true form would burn your eyes out,” I explain. “Mine would destroy you. So angels take on human vessels when we need to interact with our Father’s creation.” Actually, it’s difficult for us to interact with creation in our true forms—not impossible, but difficult. But I leave that part out.

“Okay. Um, let’s pretend that I believe you about the whole angel thing—”

“Why don't you believe in angels?” Castiel stares pointedly at his Star of David. “You’re obviously religious.”

“Uh, I’m more a cultural Jew. Mostly.” Noah glances down at his necklace and back up at Castiel. “Besides,even if I believed in angels, it doesn’t mean I’d believe you’re telling the truth. You’re both . . . different than what I’d think angels are like.”

“Well, now you know better.” I turn to my brother. “You’ll have to do the honors.”

He gives me a blank look. “Honors?”

“We want to be certain that our new friend here isn’t lying to us, right? So go ahead. Search his soul.”

“Search my—whoa! What the fuck?” 

I smile at Noah’s wide-eyed panic. “Are you afraid of being caught in a lie?”

“No! I just—what the hell does search my soul mean? Because it sounds like some kind of mind rape.”

He has a point, but I don’t see anything to gain by telling him so. “Think of it more like a mind meld.” 

Castiel lets out a sigh. “It is not like a mind meld. I am not a Vulcan. And they, along with their mind-melding powers, are fictional.”

Noah blinks. He opens his mouth to explain that I was only giving an example that he would understand, but then thinks better of it. He shuts his mouth tight this time. 

“This will not be pleasant,” my brother tells him. “But it shouldn’t be too painful—I’m just going to sort through your memories.”

“Um . . . .” Noah swallows. Then he looks around, judging how likely he is to escape all this. He stays put, so I guess he doesn't like his odds. “All right. I don’t have anything to hide as far as the Winchesters go. But other stuff-you’re not going to hold that against me, are you?”

“I make no promises.” And then Castiel’s fingertips are on Noah’s forehead.

I feel that strange, tingly sense of pride again. There times when my brother actually sounds bad ass.

Noah bears up pretty well—at first. Then the screaming starts. Fortunately for him, the whole thing only lasts a few seconds. At least by the way humans measure time. 

Castiel drops his hand and steps back. 

“Well?” I ask.

He stares at me and then back at Noah.

Noah is looking down at his shoes. His face is bright red.

I turn to Castiel. “Care to share with the class?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No.”

All right. That was succinct. “Come on, little brother. What’s going on?”

Noah looks up at him, his eyes pleading.

Castiel sighs. “It’s nothing. It’s just—a past sin that doesn’t have anything to do with the Winchesters or the Men of Letters.”

I look Noah up and down again, wondering if I missed something. “But not murder or rape, I take it?”

“No. And he’s no danger to anyone here.” Castiel puts his fingertips back on Noah’s forehead, knocking him out. His dream self wavers and then fades entirely as it—presumably—returns to his body. 

“We have to help his brother,” Castiel tells me.

I scrunch up my brow, trying to remember everything Noah told us about him. The guy has some problems, but those problems have nothing to do with our battle against the Men of Letters. It’s that dreaming Order that’s causing him trouble. So I give Castiel a blank look. “Why?”

He stares at me. “Because, judging by Noah’s memories, he’s in some sort of distress. And we’re in a position to help.”

“We’re theoretically in a position to help every human on this planet. But why would we?”

“Because we’re angels and we’re supposed to look after humanity. And because saving people is part of being a Winchester.”

I could point out that he is not, in fact, a Winchester—but that won’t get me anywhere. I suppose he sees himself as one. And so do Sam and Dean.

“Castiel, our plates are kind of full at the moment—”

“Lucifer, I thought you liked Noah!”

“I’d like him for a pet! That doesn’t mean I actually give a damn about him. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean that I care what happens to his brother.”

My little brother just stares at me. Dad help me. Of all the angels to have for my Jiminy Cricket . . . . 

"Noah's just a spy, remember?"

Castiel takes a deep breath. “This Order Noah mentioned? They blackmailed him into working for the British Men of Letters. And the hold they have over him has something to do with his brother. If we help his brother, Noah won’t be blackmailed into spying on Sam and Dean again.”

I roll my eyes. Unfortunately, Sam and Dean are our problem. I probably need them alive and well and speaking up on my behalf to get my grace back. “All right, if you want to sell this as us working on behalf of the Winchesters, I’m on board.”

“Good. Let’s go back to the real bunker and tell everyone else.”

Sure, why not? We'll see how his bleeding heart act plays there.


	16. Chapter 16

I’m still pissed as we return to the ‘real’ bunker. Pissed and tired. Dad damn it, I hate the limitations of this human body. I hate this . . . this exhaustion. I hate feeling like my vessel is ready to crumple into a heap on the floor.

Fuck it. I don’t want to sit around talking about how to help Noah’s brother. If the Winchesters learn something new from Noah, or anyone comes up with a brilliant plan, Castiel will let me know. So before they can ask me anything, I collapse into a chair. Then I crash, letting Castiel pick up the reins.

I have no idea how much time has passed when I come to. We’re in Dean’s room now—and it’s not like we can see the sun from here. Or from any part of the bunker, for that matter.

Whatever. Right now, Castiel isn’t paying attention to the fact that I’ve woken up. I’m sure he knows, but he’s got something else on his mind. Or someone else.

Oh, I see. Both halves of Destiel are sitting on their respective beds, facing each other as they talk. Neither of them looks or sounds happy. Interesting. Time to grab some more popcorn—figuratively speaking, of course.

“Yeah, well, you’ve been avoiding me all day.” That’s Dean’s ‘I’m-not-going-to-whine-but-I-sure-as-fuck-want-to’ voice.

“I have not been avoiding you.” That’s Castiel’s ‘you-are-the-most-frustrating-human-my-Father-has-ever-created’ voice. “I’m willing to continue our conversation, but we’ve had other things to think about.”

“Right. Because suddenly you’re all concerned about Noah and his brother.”

Castiel cocks his head at Dean, genuinely confused. “Why shouldn’t I be concerned about Noah and his brother?”

“No reason. Forget I said anything. I just think . . . never mind.”

“Dean, don’t you want to help them?”

“Yes, I want to help them. But that’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is—” He stops and lets out a ragged sigh. “Look, none of us understand this dreaming shit, okay? I get that you can kind of travel alongside of a dreamer, but that’s only because you’ve got Lucifer’s grace right now. We still don’t know when that’s going to wear off.”

Do they know exactly what’s wrong with Noah’s brother? Or just what kind of hold the Order has over him? It sounds like they do. I’ll ask Castiel later. I have enough tact not to interrupt just now. And enough vulgar curiosity to wait and see where this is going.

“Dean, I’ve already agreed to more research before we do anything.”

“I know.”

Castiel reaches out to put his hand on Dean’s knee, but stops as he thinks better of it this time. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Silence. Dean doesn’t say a word.

“Are you upset because Lucifer would like me to ask Noah to be my practice boyfriend?”

“What? No!” Dean manages to look suitably shocked and outraged.

“So if did ask him out—”

“What the hell, Cas? Are you actually considering that?”

“No. I don’t—I don’t think so. It wouldn’t feel right. Not now.”

“Good.” Dean almost forgets to hide his sigh of relief. “Dude, I’m not jealous or anything, but he’s way too experienced for you. And he probably doesn’t do the asexual thing.”

“I’m not strictly asexual, Dean.”

“That makes it worse. He’s—Cas, that’s not who you practice on, okay?”

“Right.” Castiel folds his arms over his chest. “Apparently an exploited prostitute named Chastity would be more appropriate.”

Ouch. I don’t know exactly what that’s about, but it was obviously a nice shot on my little brother’s part. That arrow definitely hit its mark. There must be quite a story behind that zinger. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I wish I had paid more attention to Castiel and his memories back when I had the upper hand in this vessel.

Dean is shaking his head now. “No. That was a mistake. The whole thing was fucking hilarious, but—Cas, I’m not the same guy who took you to that place, okay? Give me some credit. I’ve grown up some.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t like the idea of practicing on anyone.”

“Good.”

“Besides, I think Lucifer is more enamored of Noah than I am. Or at least more attracted to him.”

“Yeah? Well, I already told him to forget about that.”

“Dean—”

“I mean it! He’s not fucking around with anyone while he’s in your vessel.”

“But—”

“End of subject, Cas.”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to fall silent. For a long moment, at least. “Dean, if Lucifer and I make this a permanent arrangement, I can’t force him to be abstain from all . . . from all hedonism. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“I don’t care.”

“You’re being unreasonable—”

“And you’re an idiot for saying yes to him in the first place!”

There’s another long silence.

“I didn’t mean that,” Dean says. “I wasn’t even talking about the first time. I meant now.”

I’m not sure if Castiel believes him, but he pretends to. “Now? When my Father spoke up on Lucifer’s behalf?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know Chuck asked us to do this. And—fine. All right, I accept that. But him screwing around in your body? That’s not happening.”

Castiel stares at him—a long, thoughtful stare. “Dean?”

“What?”

“If Lucifer weren’t here with me, would you have said yes to our date?”

Fuck. I was hoping my little brother would never think to ask that.

Dean grunts. “If I said yes, I would have, would you kick him out?”

It takes Castiel a moment to think that through. “No. And it’s not the reason anyway, is it?”

“I don’t love having him overhear every conversation—but no. It’s not the reason.”

Castiel puts on his rejected-puppy act. No, I take that back. He’s not acting. He really feels like a puppy someone put back in the box.

Dean rolls his eyes. “All right. What do you want out of this—this non-hedonistic relationship you’re imagining?”

He blushes. I can feel our face heating up, just as our heart starts pounding. Oddly, though, our vessel’s not aroused. Not exactly. Maybe it’s too afraid of disappointment.

“I want to spend more time with you.” The words sound like someone’s dragging them out of Castiel’s throat. “I want to hug you when—when there’s no real reason to. I want to stay up late, in this room, talking to you. I want . . . I want to be allowed into your personal space sometimes. I want to watch over you when you’re sleeping.”

“We already have all that.” Dean stares at him so hard that he forces Castiel to meet his eyes. “We hug. We get into each other’s personal space all the time. You’re staying in this room now. We talk at night. And I know you still watch over me when I’m sleeping, no matter how creepy that is. So what would change, Cas?”

Castiel gulps. “I’d have a right to all that. And everyone would know it.”

Dean keeps staring at him.

My brother stares right back.

“Fuck it. You want to be ace boyfriends? Fine.”

“Do you mean that?” Castiel is wide-eyed now. Wide-eyed and hardly daring to breathe. He has all the power of an archangel at his fingertips, but this human can reduce him to a love-sick pup.

But I’d better grow accustomed to this human. My little brother is not going to fall out of love with him anytime soon. Or ever, probably. Besides, I suppose it could be worse. Dean’s a human of note, at least. He saved the world my Father created. Literally saved it. And he has my Father’s favor. That must count for something.

“Yes. I mean that, dork.” Dean smiles. And, all right, I’ll admit it. It’s a hell of a smile. Not quite equal to Sam’s, but still.

Castiel gulps again. “That’s—that’s wonderful, Dean. I’m—I don’t know what to say.”

“Before you say anything, hear me out. I’m not promising to be exclusive, okay?”

Castiel recoils. Almost like Dean slapped him in the face. “You want to date other people?”

“Not date, no.” Dean’s trying to be soothing. Not effectively, but he’s trying. “I might get a little hedonistic with someone else now and then. Nothing serious, man. Just—you know. Like a one night stand.”

“Yes.” Castiel’s voice is even more monotone than usual. “I know.”

“Cas—”

“I’m not complaining, Dean. I accept your terms.”

“Okay.” He pauses to run his fingers through his hair. “You, uh, want to hug or something?”

My brother forces himself to smile. “That’s not necessary. But if you want to—”

“No. I mean, whatever. I’m cool.”

“I’m also cool,” Castiel assures him.

Dean bites back another grin. “Okay. Good. We’ll, uh, save the hugging for later, I guess.”

“Right.”

“Yeah, right. Um, maybe we should get to bed? To our own beds, I mean.”

“I know, Dean. And yes, we should.”

I roll my eyes. Or I would if I were in command of the vessel. This isn’t awkward—not one bit. Dad help me. How many of these conversations am I going to have to survive?


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! A family emergency kept me busy, but we're all good now. Here's a short chapter so I get back into the swing of the story. More to come by this weekend, knock on wood!

I wait until Dean is safely asleep before nudging Castiel. He sleeps in the strangest way—Dean, that is. He takes up only one side of his bed, as if he’s expecting company, and folds his arms across his chest as if he’s either angry at the world or dead.

Does he sleep like that every night? Or is tonight special because Castiel has him all discombobulated? I don’t think I bothered paying attention before. And I wouldn’t have noticed tonight, except that Castiel is just sitting on his own bed, staring at him.

“Yes?” Castiel doesn’t answer my nudge out loud. And he doesn’t take his eyes off of Dean. I just hear his gravelly voice inside my head. Inside our head. Whatever.

“You made good progress tonight, little brother. Dean doesn’t know which end is up right now.”

Castiel hesitates. “That’s a good thing?”

I grin. “Yes, that’s a good thing. He’s off balance because there’s a genuine attraction between you two. But he doesn’t know what to do with it. I’m not sure why, though. I’m still tempted to blame it on some kind of internalized homophobia, but there might be something else going on.” I pause. “I don’t suppose you want to peek into his soul?”

“No!”

“Don’t get all holier-than-thou. You’ve peeked before.”

“I didn’t know what it was like to be human then! I didn’t understand.”

“All right, all right.” He’s wants to stay up on that high horse? Fine. I hope the thin air doesn’t scramble his brain. “Keep your scruples—it doesn’t matter anyway. Whatever Dean’s issue is, our strategy will be the same.”

There’s another pause. “What’s our strategy?”

“Keep it simple. Go out on dates, but don’t try anything. Don’t even hold his hand.”

“I wasn’t planning to. I don’t want to pressure him into anything.” He sighs out loud and stares down at his fingers. “But if he really doesn’t want more than friendship—”

“He does.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Here we go again. “Or what if he does but he can’t bring himself to do anything about it?”

“He’s already done something, Castiel. He agreed to date you. Asexually, but that still counts.” And it does. We can rut with these mud monkeys when we choose. Sex with these creatures has its pleasures—but we don’t pine for it. It’s an amusing bonus to owning a vessel, nothing more.

“Yes.” He lifts his eyes back up to Dean. “It counts. But it might not work out.”

“It might not.” I shrug. Figuratively, but Castiel can sense it. “He’s as stubborn a human as our Father ever created. So he might not let himself find real happiness with you—huh. Maybe that’s his issue. Maybe he doesn’t believe he deserves happiness.”

Castiel smiles a little. Interesting. This is not a new thought to him. “That might be part of it.”

“Well, his exact issues don’t really matter. Like I said, your strategy will be the same. Just keep things simple and low key and don’t pressure him.” For now.

“Lucifer?”

“Yes?”

“You have more plans for what comes next—I can feel it.”

Fuck me. There are downsides to sharing a vessel. “I do, but—listen, we have to stay flexible. A lot will depend on him.” That’s true, as far as it goes. And it’s enough to satisfy Castiel.

“All right.” He pauses yet again, as if he’s digesting everything that just happened. “Do you want to take over, Lucifer?”

“I would, actually.” I’m done riding shotgun for now. Especially after surviving that painfully awkward conversation between these two. I want to stretch my legs. I want to feel like I’m in control again. Even if it’s just control of this vessel.

Castiel lets go, leaving the reins to me. I can still feel his presence, but I don’t mind that. It’s strangely comforting, actually, having my Jiminy Cricket right at hand. Besides, the closer Castiel and I get, the more likely that Dad will trust me again.

The first thing I do is look away from Dean. I can feel Castiel’s disappointment. Okay. I’m going to have to explain that it’s almost creepy, staring at the man like that. Especially while he sleeps. Yes, he’s a mere ape who should be kissing my little brother’s feet. But still.

That explanation can wait, though. For now, I push up to my feet and head for the door.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asks.

“Just to the reading room.” I roll my shoulders and give my neck a stretch before putting my hand on the knob. “Let’s see what Sam, Noah and the Winchester matriarch are up to.”


	18. Chapter 18

Sam’s alone in the reading room when I stroll in. He’s sitting at one of the tables, hunched over some dusty tome.

What did he do with Noah? Is anyone guarding him? They have a dungeon room of sorts here. It looks remarkably like a torture chamber. I wonder if they locked him inside it.

I slide into the chair opposite Sam. “Where’s our captive?”

“Huh?” He glances up at me and then peers right back down at the tome. “Oh, asleep in my room.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. Same set up as Dean’s room.” His eyes are still trained on the book. “I brought another bed in and handcuffed him to it—it’s not like he’s going anywhere. Not physically, anyway.”

“Ah. So you haven’t succumbed to Noah’s charms.”

That gets his attention. He tears his eyes off of the book in order to grin up at me. “No. If I ever go through a bi-curious phase, though, I’ll give him a call.”

I smile back, wondering how he managed to grow up free of the issues that plague his older brother. If Sam ever finds himself attracted to another man—and that wouldn’t surprise me; few humans are a hundred percent straight or a hundred percent gay—he’d act on it without torturing himself over it.

But that’s neither here nor there. I give myself a little mental shake and then point to the tome. “So what are you pouring over?”

Sam closes the book with a sigh. “Stuff about the djinn. I’ve—well, I think I have a theory.”

“You think there’s a connection between them and the sort of dreaming that Noah’s capable of?”

“Yes. Think about it, Lucifer. They create these alternate realities, right? The djinn, I mean. Realities that their human victims are kind of, um, dreamed into.”

I frown. I respect Sam’s intelligence—he has a keen mind, for a mud monkey—but I’m not sure he’s on the right track this time. “Are the victims dreaming? Or are they experiencing some kind of elaborate hallucination?”

“Is an elaborate hallucination all that different from an intense dream?”

“Huh.” I raise my eyebrows. “That’s a good question, actually.”

Sam shoots me a curious look. “Do you know what dreams are like?”

“Yes. I don’t dream myself, but I can enter one at will—at least when I have my grace.”

“Even these special dreams of Noah’s?”

“Apparently. Castiel and I had some questions about that, but we were able to meet with Noah inside that lucid dream of his. That’s where we interrogated him.”

“I know, but . . . .” Sam makes a face as his voice trails off. “You still haven’t had one for yourself?”

“A dream, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“No.” I shake my head for emphasis. “I’m not sure I will, Sam. I’m an angel without his powers—not an actual human.”

“Right.” He taps his fingers on the table. “Well, that doesn’t matter. Not right now. In theory, you and Cas can get into Noah’s dreams. I’m wondering if Dean and I can too.”

“How? Noah has a natural talent for this kind of dreaming, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah. He says that it can be taught, though—weren’t you here for that? Maybe not.” He pauses to bite his lip. “Noah’s never taught anyone, but he says that his mentor has. It takes years, though. You have to learn all these meditation techniques and shit. But I think there’s a faster way.”

My stomach tightens. Short cuts to power tend to get humans into trouble. And I need Sam and Dean alive and well in order to get my grace back—they have to be here to give their stamp of approval. “What faster way?”

Sam leans forward against the table, closer to me. “Same way we’d get into a hallucination created by a djinn—with African Dream Root.”

That might just do the trick. But I still don’t like it. “Why do you and Dean need to get into Noah’s dreams?”

“Whatever hold this Order has over Noah’s brother, it has something to do with these powerful lucid dreams—dreams that people like Noah can all share. If we’re going to help them, we need to get inside one of them.”

“Castiel and I can do that. We don’t need you two along for the ride.”

Sam gives me a look. “If it was up to you, would you even bother helping Noah's brother?”

“No.” There’s zero shame in my voice as I answer that question. “But Castiel is determined to help them both, and he’s calling the shots. I’ll ride shotgun with him inside these weird dreams and keep him out of trouble. You two can stay here, safe in the waking world.”

“Safe?” Sam leans back in his chair and grins again. “Are you actually worried about us, Luce?”

Luce. That’s what Dean called me in front of Noah. It wasn’t a genuine nickname; he just wanted to avoid letting the young man know that he was in the presence of the devil himself. Regardless, it sounds . . . weirdly nice on Sam’s lips. And I like the way it sort of slipped out.

“Well?” He kicks me underneath the table. “Are you?”

That snaps me out of my reverie and back into my customary sarcasm. “Yes, Sam. You’ve caught me.” I let out a dramatic sigh. “I worry about you constantly. Not so much Dean—no, this all about you. In fact, I pray every night for the ability to dream like a real human boy, in case that’s the only way I’ll ever hold you in my arms—”

Sam’s laughing outright now. “All right, all right. Let’s get back to the point—”

“No, let me get these words out!” I’m in the zone now. Really, I missed my calling. I should have taken an actor for my vessel. “I’d reform for you, Sam. For your sake, I’d learn to love humanity. Just give me a chance to prove my devotion to you—”

He snorts. “If I believed that, I’d start dating you tomorrow.”

“Even if you’re not bi-curious?”

“Even if I were the straightest guy ever. I’d just lie back and think of England.”

All right. I can’t help but break character in order to laugh at that. 

“Do I even want to know what you two are talking about?”

Fuck me, that’s Mary. I have no idea when she entered the room or how much she overheard. Damn it, I hate these human limitations! I should have been aware of her presence immediately.

Sam looks at me and then sobers up. “Um, probably not,” he manages.

“Oh yes she does.” I cast him a brief look of apology before I continue. “We’re talking about African Dream Root—and why your sons shouldn’t use it.”


	19. Chapter 19

“African Dream Root?” Mary gives us both a cautious look and then seats herself at the end of the table. “What is it for and why would either of my sons want to take it?”

Sam cocks his head at me, giving me the opportunity to go first. I make a rolling hand gesture to indicate that the honor is all his. That’s not due to any generosity on my part—I’d just rather have the last word than the first.

“Um, okay,” Sam begins. “I don’t know if you ever dealt with the Djinn, Mom. They have some kind of mind control—it’s like they suck you into a dream. A dream they choose. They can guess the life you really want to live. It’s sort of like _**The Matrix**_.”

Mary raises her eyebrows. “ _ **The Matrix**_?”

“Oh, right. You wouldn’t have seen that yet. Or _**Inception**_. Damn.” He frowns. “Well, anyway, they give you a dream of the way you want things to be. Meanwhile, they’re feeding off of you. They’re killing you. But Dean and I found out that you can break into the dreams—and help free the dreamer—by using a plant called African Dream Root. It has some, uh, psychotropic properties.”

She frowns. “And you think this drug will get you inside Noah’s dreams?”

“Exactly.” Sam smiles at her with approval. “If we can break into lucid dreams like that, then Dean and I can help Noah and his brother.”

I raise an eyebrow. “But there’s another way for a human to learn how to break into one of these dreams.”

Mary narrows her eyes at me. “You mean by luck of the draw? Just being born with the talent, like Noah?”

“No.” I nod at Sam, giving him the floor again.

“Lucifer’s right.” Sam glares at me before turning back to his mother. “You can be taught. Apparently, if you have someone to train you up in some heavy duty mediation techniques, you can learn how to dream like Noah does.”

Now Mary looks confused. “Dean said you were into mediation and—and, uh, all sorts of ‘new age crap.’ Why wouldn’t you try that before you mess with a psychotropic plant?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Look, meditation is good. I’ve got nothing against it. But it takes years to learn how to dream like Noah does. And we don’t have years to waste. The African Dream Root is a lot quicker and a lot easier.”

“Careful Sam.” I transform my voice to sound exactly like Yoda. “If you end your training now, if you choose the quick and easy path, as Vader did, you will become an agent of evil.”

Sam’s mouth drops open.

So does Mary’s. “Did you just quote _**The Empire Strikes Back**_?”

I nod at her as I resume my normal voice. “Yes. To humans of a certain age, the original _**Star Wars**_ trilogy carries more weight than every holy book in the world combined.”

“He’s not wrong,” Sam admits. “But—look, this is an entirely different situation. I’m not abandoning my training. I never had any training in this dreaming stuff to begin with.”

Mary blinks. “How is that better?”

“I’m also not going to go over to the dark side—African Dream Root doesn’t make you evil.”

“It’s not the plant I’m worried about,” I retort. “It’s the short cut. Trust me on this, Sam. I know a thing or two about tempting humans—and short cuts to power are always a bad thing for them.” You’d think he’d have learned that from drinking demon blood, but apparently not.

“So what are you saying? That every shamanic culture that ever used African Dream Root or peyote or anything like it was wrong?”

“No. But those cultures usually have rituals with built-in safeguards. And those rituals aren’t about a quick fix.”

“I’m not after a quick fix.” Sam is breathing slow now, making sure he stays calm. “I want to help Noah and his brother. That’s what we do, Lucifer. We save people.”

It’s so tempting to throw in something about a Messiah complex here, but I resist. “Castiel and I can help Noah and his brother out, remember? We can walk into these dreams without you and Dean.”

Mary squeezes her hands together as her eyes dart to mine. “You have that power?”

“Normally I do, with my grace. But Castiel can bring me into the dream with him.”

She's not satisfied yet. “But why would you help Noah?”

“Left to myself, I wouldn’t. But Castiel is determined to and—as I keep reminding your thick-skulled son—he’s calling the shots. Besides, I need Sam and Dean safe right now. At least until they help convince my Father to give me my grace back. So I’m willing to help Noah out while they stay here.”

“Wait,” Sam says. “Forget about your, uh, ‘enlightened’ self-interest for a moment.” I can hear the air quotes he threw in there. “Does Castiel have the power to walk into a dream on his own right now? Or is just because Chuck lent him your grace?”

Okay. That gives me pause. “Castiel’s a seraph. Seraphs can walk into dreams.”

“At full power, sure.” Sam gives me a look. “But Cas’s wings are broken, remember? And we don’t know how long his access to your grace will last. So what happens if we send you two into one of these dreams, and then it runs out?”

Fuck me. I actually have no idea.

That must show on my face, because Sam grins in triumph. “See?”

Damn him. I want to wipe that smug, victorious look off his face. Or kiss it off. Either would work. What? I’ve never denied that humans are fuckable.

Mary comes to my rescue. “Lucifer’s right, Sam. I don’t want you using this stuff.”

Okay, that’s a new wrinkle for Sam. He’s never had a mom around to disapprove of something he’s doing before. “Ah, Mom, look—”

“Look what? I’m sorry about Noah and his brother. But this isn’t a normal hunt. You don’t know what you’d be walking into with these dreams. You don’t have any experience with them. And you don’t have any kind of training to help you deal with them.”

“Mom—”

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me—”

“What? Look, I’m not a kid. And it’s not like—” He stops cold. Suddenly his face is bright red.

Mary leans back in her chair and folds her arms across her chest. “It’s not like what?”

“Nothing. It’s—never mind, Mom.”

I can fill in the blanks: It’s not like Sam’s used to having his mom around. It’s not like he grew up with her. It’s not like he really knows her at all. It’s not like she gets to have a say in what he does or doesn’t do.

One look at Mary’s expression convinces me that she can fill in the blanks too. Good. Things should start getting interesting. But before either of them gets going again, Castiel explodes with joy. No, not literally. But that’s what it feels like inside my head.

I must have grimaced, because Sam’s suddenly narrowing his eyes at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Apparently Dean just prayed for Castiel to get his feathery ass back into their room.” I let out a long-suffering sigh as I stand up. “And apparently Castiel is happy about that, so we’re going to comply.”

Sam glances at his mom and then smiles a little. “We should all get some rest. And we should table this talk until tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Mary says. And then she meets my eyes. There’s no friendship or affection in them—but there is an offer of a temporary alliance. We’re both determined to stop Sam from climbing into one of these dreams. Dean too, if he’s stupid enough to take his little brother’s side.

I give her a curt nod in return, cementing the alliance. And then I stroll off toward Dean’s room without a backward glance.


	20. Chapter 20

I hand the reins over to Castiel as I saunter toward Dean’s room, but I don’t let myself slip into unconsciousness. I’d rather see what Dean has in mind first. What’s so urgent that he had to see his pet angel this instant?

Castiel doesn’t seem worried by Dean’s prayer, so I assume there’s no emergency. He’s not offended either. Maybe the ‘feathery ass’ thing is just some private joke between them. But he’s apprehensive about something, because he slows down as he nears the room.

Ah. He’s trying to figure out how to behave around his new platonic boyfriend.

“Hello Dean.” Castiel’s voice is all gravel as he hesitates just inside the door.

“Hey you.” Dean smiles at him—it’s that soft, warm smile of his.

It looks good on him. So does that old Metallica tee-shirt and the casual, dark pajama pants. I’ll say this much for the Winchesters: they’re a ridiculously pretty family.

“You planning to come inside the room, Cas?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course, Dean.”

Sweet Dad, little brother. Could you be just a little more awkward and stiff as you walk over to your bed? Apparently not, because he sits down all straight-backed and proper before looking up at Dean.

“Was there something in particular you needed from me?”

“Yeah, dude.” Dean rolls his eyes as he takes a seat on his own bed, facing him. “Since we're both still up, I’d like to spend some actual time with my boyfriend.”

Castiel flutters. Literally. And those are my wings he’s fluttering, thank you. All right, not quite. But it’s my grace that’s allowing his own useless wings to flutter.

This is pathetic—why does a sliver of affection from this mud-monkey make my little brother so inanely happy? Even Dean knows it’s too much. I can tell by the way he swallows and shifts his eyes for a second. And I don’t need any grace to guess what he’s thinking: that someone like him shouldn’t inspire so much joy in the seraph.

Well, no argument there. But I sympathize with Dean. He’s Castiel’s whole world—and that’s a lot to put on a human’s puny shoulders.

Castiel has enough insight to realize that he’s making Dean uncomfortable. So he lowers his gaze and turns the subject. “Sam has been studying up on Noah’s dreams. He believes he’s found a way to enter them: African Dream Root.”

“What, like what we use to break someone out of a Djinn’s trap?”

“Exactly, yes.” He risks meeting Dean’s eyes again. “Sam thinks those lucid dreams are related to the type of dreams that the djinn subject their victims to.”

“Huh.” Dean cocks his head, considering. “It might be worth a try. Not now, I mean. You know, in the morning or whenever.”

My little brother frowns.

“What’s wrong, Cas?”

“Lucifer doesn’t think you or Sam should use the Dream Root. Your mother agrees with him.”

Dean’s eyes bulge. “With Lucifer?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” Dean’s straining to keep his voice relaxed—he’s obviously not thrilled with the idea of his mom agreeing with me on anything. “What’s his objection?”

“Since it takes most humans years of training in various meditation techniques to learn how to dream like Noah does—”

“Wait. No way did it take Noah years of training.”

“Well, no. Because he has a natural talent for it. But he talked about his mentor, remember? So even he must have had to study some things.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Dean, Lucifer thinks that the plant is a short cut you and Sam shouldn’t meddle with.” He pauses. “He says that short cuts to power are dangerous temptations for humans. He even quoted Yoda. That’s when Sam started taking him seriously.”

Dean scrunches up his brow. After a moment, though, his face clears. “Oh, I get it.” He transforms his voice. “If you end your training now, if you choose the quick and easy path, as Vader did, you will become an agent of evil.”

Castiel blinks. “Yes, that was the quote. Does everyone know how to make the Yoda voice?”

“I don’t know. But you’d be surprised how often it comes in handy. Once when _**The Empire Strikes Back**_ was back on the big screen in Topeka, I met this girl. She was a real geek—you know, dressed up like a storm trooper and everything. But we hit it off, and she—” he blushes as he breaks off. “Uh, never mind. Can’t tell that story to my new boyfriend.”

There’s a long, awkward silence.

Castiel breaks it. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you agree to become boyfriends? Did I pressure you into it?”

His eyes are gentle now. And there's far more than a sliver of affection in them. “No. I wouldn’t let you pressure me like that, Cas.”

“Then why did you say yes?”

“Because now that I’ve thought about it—look, it’s not a bad idea, okay? I’m never going to have the white picket fence anyway.”

“We can build a white picket fence if you really want one. Perhaps outside, where I believe there was a garden once—”

Dad help us. Castiel’s literal-mindedness shouldn’t bother me, but sometimes it gets to be too much. Not too much for Dean, though, apparently. He just laughs. A good-natured sort of laughter. There’s nothing mocking or biting about it.

“No, Cas,” he says, “that’s okay. Hey, you want to watch a movie? I downloaded _**Excalibur**_ on my tablet. Ever seen it?”

“No, but I know the plot. I think it’s somewhat disjointed.”

“Oh, it is.” Dean stands up and motions for Cas to do the same. “But there’s a lot of good stuff in the film anyway—here. Let’s get you comfortable.”

With that, Dean undoes Castiel’s tie and removes it.

“Uh, Dean?”

“Shh. Relax, Cas.” His fingers are on my little brother’s shirt now, unbuttoning it from the top.

Castiel gasps. I don’t think he knows whether to be turned on or terrified. 

Dean just grins, guessing exactly what effect he’s having on the seraph. I can’t tell if he’s flirting with Castiel or busting him. Probably a combination.

At length, Dean takes a step back. “All right, you can finish. Get into something you can wear to bed. We can lie down on mine and watch.”

“On . . . on your bed?”

“Yeah. We’re going to watch it on the tablet together, remember?”

“But—”

“But what?”

“I don’t want to violate your personal space.”

He snorts. “Since when? Dude, that’s part of why you wanted to be ace boyfriends, remember?”

Our vessel is bright red now. “Oh. Well, yes. If you don’t mind—”

“Jesus, Cas. If I minded, I wouldn’t be offering. Now get ready and come lie down before I change my mind.”

Castiel scrambles to obey his master. That pains me, but at least he's found someone genuinely devoted to him. I still don’t know if they’ll ever consummate this relationship, but that doesn’t matter.

Of course, Sam will still come first for Dean. But Castiel knows that and seems at peace with it. Besides, Dean has more than enough love to go around. Sam, on the other hand—

Don’t mistake me. He’s fallen in love. Jessica was pathetically sweet, but probably the real thing. And I know he’s had amorous adventures since then. But he doesn’t love like Dean does, with a whole heart and then some. He lives too much in his head for that. So any significant other would have to learn how to settle.

In fairness, though, I suppose he’s worth settling for.

Wait. What in Dad’s name am I thinking? I don’t have any opinion on Sam as far as that goes. Yes, I’d like to fuck him—how many angels can claim to have fucked their own true vessel? (Gabriel probably managed it, but apart from him.) But I don’t have any reason to care about how deep a love Sam is capable of.

I’m tired. Yes, that must be it. I have a human’s failings now, and apparently entertaining idiotic thoughts when I’m not well-rested is one of them. I decide to leave Dean and Castiel to their movie as I close my eyes—metaphorically—and nod off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long space between chapters! Next part should be up sooner.


	21. Chapter 21

I’m in bed. Castiel’s mind palace version of our bed, that is, because I’m curled up next to him. I’m breathing in his grace—no, my grace, which our Father gave him access to. 

Notice that I’m not complaining. Admirable, isn’t it? And I haven’t tried to manipulate Castiel into doing anything untoward with all that power. No, I’m just trying to protect the idiot humans in his care. Dad help me, but I need those Winchester boys alive and well, so they’d better heed my warning about the Dream Root.

Unfortunately, they’re both stubborn morons. I realize that’s not their fault—they’re only human, after all. I’ll have to convince them to rise above their natures.

I nudge closer to my little brother. I want to feel the warmth of him. I want to feel the tremor of my grace intermingling with his. 

But there’s no trace of power here. And none of his warmth either.

I open my eyes. Not to darkness, but to soft candlelight. That registers as wrong somewhere in the back of my brain, but only for a moment. These candles are all right. They’re supposed to be here, because this isn’t Castiel’s bed. And this isn’t the room he shares with Dean. Not the real room or the mind palace version. This isn’t even the bunker.

This is a dorm room. A crappy dorm room. Which, I suppose, goes without saying. But it’s a familiar crappy dorm room. I’ve seen it before . . . in Sam’s memories.

And that’s what this is. It’s a memory from Sam, back when he was dating Jessica Moore. They’re both here, slow dancing by candlelight to some moody indie song—where the fuck did Sam get his taste in music? I applaud Dean’s efforts to instill a love of classic rock in him. And it did take, to an extent. Just not enough to cure him of this shite.

I shake my head a little but then turn my attention to Sam himself—or Sam as he was, back in Stanford. He wasn’t as impressive then as he is now. He was all gangly limbs, shy smiles and Bieber bangs. And yes, that’s adorable on him. But I prefer the mature, confident, muscular version of today.

The scene shifts. A natural sort of shift that doesn’t raise any hackles on my part. Jess is gone—I feel I know her well enough from Sam’s memories to call her Jess—and so is the crappy dorm room. I’m back in the bunker, in Sam’s room.

If I stop and think, I’ll realize that Sam’s room isn’t part of Castiel’s mind palace. Castiel is familiar with it, of course. And I know he’s spent time here. I know Sam has allowed him use of his television and such. But only the Winchester’s kitchen and Dean’s room have made it into that ‘safe place’ inside my little brother’s head.

But I don’t stop and think, because Sam is right in front of me. He’s lying sidelong on his bed, propping himself up with one arm. He’s shirtless, showing off some of that muscle I was missing earlier. Barefoot too. He’s just lazing around in an old pair of jeans—and that’s a good look on him.

He’s reading. Not a tome or journal; it’s something he can read on his cell phone. I crane my neck for a glimpse—ah. It’s that new Harry Potter play. No wonder he’s swiping through the pages so quickly. It’s a fast read.

I lean back against the wall and drink in the view. I don’t usually have an opportunity to appreciate Sam this way. I’m not usually alone with him like this. 

Back when I was inside him, every moment was a struggle. A struggle I relished: Sam knows how to put up a fight. To be completely honest, I even loved how he managed to best me. No, I didn’t love the result. I will always hate the Cage and the moment he managed to toss the lot of us back into it. But to throw me off and take back control—how many humans could manage that?

Fuck, I’m grinning like an idiot. But I can’t help it. This is a really nice view. And for once, I’m not wasting my time thinking what I could do with a vessel like that. I don’t even want Sam for a vessel. Not right now. If I were possessing him, I wouldn’t be able to stare at him like this.

He still doesn’t know I’m here. Just as well, because I’m breathing faster than normal. And louder than normal. What’s the matter with me? I close my eyes, but I can still see Sam lying there on his bed. Except he’s not reading anymore. In my imagination he’s moved onto, ah, other things.

Everything is happening too fast now. Presumably Sam is still just reading on his bed, oblivious to my presence. But in my imagination, which is running amok, he’s . . . it doesn’t matter what he’s doing. What matters is that I seem to have lost control of this vessel. My breath, my pulse, my—fuck! Fuck!

“Lucifer! Come on, man. Wake up.”

My eyes shoot open. For real this time. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m sitting straight up in Castiel’s bed. In Dean’s room. In Dean’s real room, I mean. And he’s sitting on the bed, facing me, his hands gripping my arms. 

“Are you okay?” He’s peering at me now.

“Let go of me.” I shake him off. “Get away from me!”

He lets go, holding his hands up as if to prove he’s unarmed. “All right, all right. Calm down. You were just dreaming, that’s all.”

“I don’t dream, you moron.” 

Dean just raises his eyebrows. “Maybe you didn’t before, dude, but—”

“Fuck you!” I climb out of the bed, pushing him aside. 

“Lucifer—”

I don’t answer him. I just slam my shoulder into one of his shelves, sending a collection of knives clattering to the floor. Satisfying, but not enough. So I turn to his dresser—

“Hey!”

I ignore him and push it over. Or I try to push it over but the damn thing won’t cooperate. Fuck me, why is this vessel so weak? And why am I still breathing so hard? Why can’t I control my breaths? Why do my lungs feel like they can’t cram enough air into them?

“Lucifer, look at me.” 

I didn’t hear him move, but Dean’s right in front of me, and he’s gripping my arms again. This time I don’t fight him.

“You need to breathe with me, okay? Nice and slow, like this.”

I try to match his rhythm. Castiel helps—it’s as if he’s enfolding me in those broken wings of his. And it works. The breaths are coming easier now. I think I can control them again.

“Good, that’s good,” Dean says. “Easy, there.”

He’s talking to me as if I were a child. Which is exactly how he sees me—he’s made that clear enough in the past. I’m going to smite his ass once I get my grace back.

Dean’s still staring at me with something almost like concern. “You okay now?”

“You don’t understand.” I swallow. Hard. “I don’t dream. And I especially don’t lose control like that in a dream.”

He cocks his head at me. “Lose control like what?”

I just give him a look.

The light dawns. “Oh. Fuck.” His face is red now, but he soldiers on. “Uh, listen, it’s no big deal, okay? Wet dreams aren’t just for teenagers. Lots of guys get them.”

“I’m not one of the guys, Dean. I’m an archangel.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re an archangel without any grace who’s supposed to be learning what it’s like to be human, remember?”

“Fuck you.”

He just laughs. “Come on. Let’s clean up this mess. They you can, uh, get a shower and get back to bed.”

With that, Dean turns around and starts picking up the knives. I stand there for a minute—a long minute—but then I kneel down and help him. Yes, I can feel Castiel’s surprise at that, but he should know better. I am capable of choosing my battles.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

He shrugs as grabs the last of the knives. “Then don’t. We got books and stuff. And if you want to watch something on the tablet, just keep the volume low.”

That’s not what I want to do. There’s a way humans have of clearing their heads. I think I need to try it. “I need fresh air, Dean. I need to get out of this bunker.”

“Look, you’re not going out by yourself—”

“I know.” I take a slow, deep breath. “I was hoping you’d take me out for a ride instead.”


	22. Chapter 22

Dean turns the Impala onto Route 281, heading south. I don’t know if he chose that at random or if he has some destination in mind. And I don’t bother asking.

He’s got the windows open and the radio on, and he’s singing along with some Skynyrd tune. I smile at that—just a little, but I do.

Don’t judge. If you spend enough time with certain mud monkeys, they start growing on you. Doesn’t matter. My Father still should have destroyed them all with a meteor eons ago.

I turn and stare out my own window. We’re already well outside Lebanon, so there are no town lights. Not much in the way of street lamps either, so mostly we’re relying on the headlights of the Impala and the other vehicles behind us or ahead of us. Out there in the darkness, though, is the seemingly endless, rolling grassland of Kansas. There’s a sparse beauty to that grassland, almost at odds with the star-crammed sky.

Damn it. I can never leave earth. I can’t bear to be away from this. Heaven has its own treasures, yes. But earth is where my Father lavished His attention.

But staying here can’t mean living with human weaknesses. I must regain my grace. I can’t face another dream like the one I had tonight. How did that even happen to me? Angels don’t dream. Angels especially don’t dream about their own true vessels. And they certainly don’t become unwittingly aroused by visions of said true vessel.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Dean glances at me. “You’re into classic rock, right? Or at least the hard stuff. That’s what you blared from Sammy’s room back when you were fighting with your Dad.”

“Music is one of the few things that humans can boast about—I’m into a lot of it.”

“Yeah? What other kinds do you like?”

I should be grateful, I suppose, for the distraction he's trying to provide. But gratitude has never come easy to me.“You don’t have to make conversation with me, Dean.”

“Look, man, I’m not just your chauffeur.”

“You can let me drive the Impala. I can go out on my own next time.”

“Not happening—not anytime soon.” He gives me a look before putting his eyes back on the road. Or, rather, he gives my little brother a look. “Hear that Cas? You take over if he tries.”

I roll my eyes. “He says that goes without saying.”

Dean nods, satisfied.

“Is Cas allowed to drive your Baby?”

The question catches Dean by surprise. He doesn’t have a ready made answer.

All right, that’s worth smiling about. I love it when the arrows I shoot at random somehow find their mark.

“Well, he’s a better driver than he used to be.” Dean says at last. He sounds cautious. Judicious too, as if he’s forcing himself to be fair. “I’d like him to have more practice first, though. Unless there’s some emergency.”

“What constitutes an emergency?”

He grins. “I can imagine him ending up as my designated driver. Especially if Sammy’s not around.”

“Makes sense.” It’s my turn to nod. “You do drink a lot, Dean Winchester. Good thing you have Castiel to keep your liver running.”

“He doesn’t keep my liver running.”

I don’t answer that.

Dean glances my way again. “Wait, he doesn’t, does he? I can’t have damaged it that bad already. At my age?”

Ah. Another arrow finds it’s mark. “I can’t say for sure, but Castiel isn’t denying it.”

“Well ask him straight out!”

“I’ll leave that conversation to the two of you.” I pause and give Dean a meaningful glance of my own. “Speaking of which, I think it’s high time we had a discussion about your relationship with my brother.”

“Hell no.” He shakes his head for extra emphasis.

I turn down the radio.

Dean glares at me.

“This is my little brother we’re talking about.”

“Yeah. But it’s not like you ever gave a damn about him until now.”

“But you approve of me giving a damn about him, remember? No matter how recently.”

“Fuck,” Dean murmurs under his breath. “All right. What have you got to say?”

“First of all, I’ve decided not to withhold my approval. I’m all right with you two being ace boyfriends, or whatever you want to label it.”

Dean snorts. “Can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

“It should mean something. Castiel’s far above you—I’m the only one around who knows just how far. But, given my Father’s favor and your contributions to saving this planet, I suppose you’re as acceptable an ape as Castiel is likely to find.”

“Is that your idea of a compliment?”

“It’s as close to one as you’ll ever get from me. But be decent to him, Dean. If you must screw around with other people, try for a little discretion, at least.”

I expect Castiel to start panicking again, but he’s listening attentively instead. Sweet Dad, has he finally learned to trust me? Good thing. He would never have gotten this far with Dean on his own. He needs me as a copilot.

Dean, meanwhile, still has his eyes on the road. But his hands are suddenly gripping the wheel a whole lot tighter.

I swallow a smile as I continue. “Now I doubt Castiel will do much experimenting on his own. But if he does choose to, you better not stand in the way.”

“I wouldn’t, okay? Dude, I’m not into double standards.”

“Good. I still think he can learn a lot from our guest back at the bunker.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. We’ve already been over that.”

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t happen. I still think Noah would be perfect to practice on.”

His hands are even tighter on the wheel now, if that’s possible. “And I still think Noah would eat Cas alive.”

There’s that jealousy again. Really, Dean makes this too easy. “Unlikely. But there’s little danger of us finding out. Castiel is determined to be faithful to you, no matter how many one night stands you indulge in.”

That, I admit, is a guess on my part. I’m extrapolating from the emotions I’ve sensed in Castiel ever since Dean said he didn’t want to be exclusive. I suppose Castiel can correct me, if he sees fit.

He doesn’t.

Dean just sighs. “Look, I don’t know how many—you know what? This is between me and Cas. If he wants to bring it up again, talk it out some more, he can.”

“If he does bring it up, make sure you really listen. You’ve got a good thing with Castiel, you know. You ask a lot of him—you won’t even put him first in your life. But he’s still a pathetically loyal pet to you.”

“What are you talking about? Cas knows how important he is to me—”

“Important, yes. But he also knows that you operate on a strict hierarchy. Sam always comes first. He has the lion’s share of your devotion. Until recently, Castiel came second. I don’t know if that’s still the case with your mother back in play.”

Dean’s knuckles are white now. And that’s not just a trick of the headlights passing us.

He swallows. “Look, Cas understands—”

“I know he does, Dean. He accepts your hierarchy and his place in it. He doesn’t even question it. But how many other significant others could live with that?” I pause to let that sink in. “Think about that. Especially the next time you flirt with some random woman.”

Dean doesn’t answer. But his knuckles are still white and his eyes are glued to the road now.

Excellent. I’ve got him feeling guilty and jealous at the same time. But I’ll let it go for now. No point in overplaying my hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for another long wait between chapters. I'll try to do better! And thanks to all of you who have chosen to stick with this story.


	23. Chapter 23

I don’t leave Dean and his white knuckles alone for long. But instead of me needling him some more, I figure it’s best for Castiel to take over. This concerns him more than me. Besides, it will be more entertaining to watch this conversation as a spectator.

So I settle back and let him take the reins. Castiel isn’t surprised or nervous this time. He’s—fuck, he’s worried about his boyfriend. I try not to roll my eyes.

“Dean?”

I’ll say this much for Winchester: he senses the change right away. I can see it in his face as he glances over to the shotgun seat.

“Hey, Cas.” He blushes—straight to the tips of his ears. “You, uh, heard all that?”

“Yes.”

How does my little brother manage to rob his voice of any discernible emotion? It’s weirdly effective, though. Dean looks even more guilty now.

“So, um, about what Lucifer was saying . . . .”

“He’s right, Dean.”

“What? No he’s not—”

“I understand that Sam comes first for you. And probably your mother now as well.”

“Look, it’s not that simple—”

Castiel turns toward him with this heart-breaking, earnest look. Fuck. Every now and then, I understand the weird charisma that radiates from my little brother. He can inspire even the other angels to trust him, because he really wants to make the world a better place.

No wonder they all pay attention to him.

“Dean.” His voice is gentle but a little exasperated. “I am not offended or upset. I expect you to put your family first.”

Of course he’s not offended. He’s satisfied with whatever scrap of affection Dean cares to offer.

Dean sighs. That guilt of his must be overpowering, because he actually reaches over to Castiel and grips his hand. That’s a big step for someone who spends a disproportionate chunk of his life burying himself in the closet.

My brother is surprised, but pleased—and he lets Dean interlace their fingers.

“You’re my family too, Cas.” Dean says it with his eyes glued to the road, like he can’t bear to see Castiel’s reaction. So only I know about that soft, hopeful smile that plays on my brother’s lips.

  
~oOo~

  
“Hey. Where have you two been?” Sam looks up from some tome or other as Dean and Castiel clamber down the stairs.

“Out for a ride.” Dean says. It should have sounded like the most natural explanation in the world, but Dean’s tone makes it painfully awkward.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”

“No! It’s just—um, Lucifer needed some air. And then he let Cas take over. And, you know, it’s just me and Cas out for a ride, that’s all.”

“Okay.” Sam glances from one of them to the other and then looks back at the tome. “Nothing I’m reading here is going to stop me from using the Dream Root—”

“It’s like a date, okay?” Dean goes red after blurting the words out. Again.

Now Sam looks mystified. “Huh? What’s like a date?”

Castiel looks equally perplexed. “A ride counts as a date?”

“Yeah.” Dean stiffens his shoulders and digs his hands into his pockets.

“But we’ve gone out for a ride before—”

“Jesus, Cas, it counts as a date, okay?”

Sam’s mouth is hanging open now. “Um, so you two are—”

“Yeah.” There’s a finality in Dean’s tone that’s just daring his brother to make something of it—to torture him as much as he wants while he has the chance.

But Sam doesn’t take the bait. He relaxes into a genuine smile instead. “That’s awesome. I’m happy for you two—”

“Thanks. Um, good talk. Come on, Cas.”

I don’t get a last look at Sam as Castiel faithfully trails Dean back to their bedroom, like a good pet. But I don’t need to get a look at Sam. I can picture his half-congratulatory, half-smirking expression perfectly.

  
-oOo-

  
“Dean?” Cas tilts his face toward the opposite bed.

There’s some movement under the covers over there until Dean’s head emerges. “Yeah, Cas?”

“You didn’t tell your brother that our relationship is asexual.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.”

There’s a long silence. Long enough so that Dean closes his eyes again.

But Castiel isn’t done. “Why not?”

“Because the details of our . . . of our, uh, relationship aren’t his business.”

“Oh.”

Another long silence. Dean closes his eyes yet again.

But Castiel’s still not done. “Why isn’t it?”

“Dude, you don’t talk to your brother about this stuff.” His eyes widen. “Why? Do you want him to know?”

“It doesn’t matter to me. But—but I thought it would matter to you. I thought you would want to be clear that we are not copulating.”

Dean gapes at him now. “Cas, never say ‘copulating’ again.”

My little brother blinks. “All right. But I still don’t understand. If it’s none of Sam’s business, then why did you tell him that we’re dating?”

“That’s different. Look, I’m not ashamed of us, okay? So I want Sam and my mom to know. And, you know, everyone. But we don’t have to spell out what goes on in here. And, believe me, they won’t ask.”

“I see.”

“Good. Let’s get some sleep. Night, Cas.”

“It’s almost morning, Dean. And I don’t sleep regardless.” He sits up. “Perhaps I should go talk to Sam. He must not have slept much himself, with all the research he’s been doing—”

Dean groans and lifts up the covers on his bed. “Come here.”

“Come where?”

“Here, Cas. In bed. Next to me.”

Castiel doesn’t need to be told twice. He slides out of his own bed and in next to Dean. There’s a respectable distance between them, actually, but I don’t think he minds.

Dean gives him a stern look. “Now close your eyes and—”

“And what? Meditate on my grace?”

They both grin at that. “Yeah,” Dean says. “That’ll do.”

He nestles under the covers. Castiel follows suit. They’re still facing each other. Dean even reaches out and squeezes my brother’s shoulder. “Night.”

Castiel doesn’t make an issue about the hour of day this time. “Good night, Dean,” he says instead.

Well, well. I have to hand it to my little brother. He made it into bed with Dean Winchester. And without any help from me—not at this moment, anyway. I like to think I set him up with a beautiful assist, though, given that guilt trip I laid on Dean.

Now where will this lead? Nowhere, probably. I mean, yeah, it’ll reinforce this asexual romance of theirs. But Castiel is no closer to copulating with the man.

Granted, that’s only a secondary goal for him. But he does want Dean. And I’m in a generous enough mood to hope that my _hermanito_ gets what he wants. So I will need to cure Dean of his internalized homophobia.

That’s not the only obstacle, though. Dean also has to be willing to make a move knowing that I’m riding shotgun with ‘Cas.’

I feel a twinge of . . . of something. No, that’s not guilt. What do I have to feel guilty about? There are precious few vessels that can hold me for any length of time, so it’s not like I have a ton of options. This deal is the best for everyone: share the super-vessel with Castiel and forget that Sam is perfectly suited to me and that Mary is a near second.

I’m sorry that me sharing with my little brother makes things awkward. But I need a vessel—I’m not letting our Father lock me up in heaven, away from this world, for eternity. So we’ll all just have to manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's still sticking with this story, even after such a long time between chapters. Much appreciated!


	24. Chapter 24

I should sleep. This pathetic human vessel requires a few hours a night, at least. So why can’t I close my eyes?

Fuck. I slump down on the floor in Castiel’s mind palace version of the bunker kitchen. He still has the reins, so it should be easy for me to nod off. Trouble is, if I let myself slide back into sleep, I might find myself in the middle of another dream. About Sam. About Sam lying there, all muscles and tousled hair, looking—

No. I can’t lose control like that again. Ever.

All right. Since I can’t sleep, I might as well roam the bunker—the real bunker—and find someone to torment.

I nudge Castiel. Then I nudge him again, because of course he’s almost sickeningly happy right now, lying there on Dean’s bed, face to face with his ‘ace boyfriend.’ There’s still a respectable amount of space between them—to provide Dean with deniability, I suppose—but Dean’s arm has migrated to Castiel’s waist, and Castiel’s arm is on top of his.

“Um, Castiel?”

“Yes?”

“I’d really like to get up.”

“In a few minutes.”

“No. You’ll stay like this for hours if I let you.”

Castiel gives me a noncommittal mumble—apparently he’s fine with that idea.

“Come on, little brother. I just want to be up for a little while. I’m sure we’ll be back before Dean’s awake.”

It takes some more pleading and cajoling on my part, but at length he gives in. Excellent. Maybe I can finally get a few words in with Mary—we need to figure out how we’re going to prevent the boys from testing Sam’s theory with the African Dream Root. Or maybe I can indulge in some banter with Noah. Who knows? Maybe more than a little banter. He’s just the thing to take my mind off a certain green-eyed vessel of mine . . . .

Fuck. That green-eyed vessel is alone in the research room as I walk in. Strange that his eyes are so different from Dean’s. Sam’s are mutable, changing with his mood from hazel to gray and back again. Dean’s seem to be a harder, more permanent green.

Wait? Why do I care about their eye color? This is ridiculous.

Fuck me. The point is I shouldn’t be alone with Sam right now. Not with that idiotic dream so fresh in my memory. And if I had my grace, I’d have known that he was in here by himself. Without it, I’m blind and helpless.

Thanks again, Dad. This whole situation was a frigging awesome idea on Your part.

Maybe I can change direction before Sam notices me? No, too late. He’s already looking up from his laptop, so I saunter up to his table and collapse into a chair.

He raises an eyebrow at me. And he knows it's me and not Cas. That's clear from his expression.

“So how’d you do it, Luce?”

“Do what? Escape Dean’s room?” I let out a long, melodramatic sigh as I rest my feet up on the table. “It wasn’t easy. Castiel didn’t want to hand the reins back over. It took every ounce of my diplomatic skills to convince him that he’ll have more opportunities to lie next to Dean and count the freckles on his face.”

I don’t think Sam knows how to react to that. “Is that really all that’s happening?”

“Oh yes. It’s painfully platonic.”

Dean might not have thought that was any of Sam's business, but I don't mind sharing it with him. And Castiel doesn't care who knows, so I'm safe enough.

Sam snorts. “Yeah, okay. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

I place my hand over my heart. “Are you daring to suggest that Dean might not be one hundred percent heterosexual?”

“Who me?” He plays up the melodrama too. “No, of course not. But he and Cas do have this profound bond going—”

“You say that like it’s a sore point.”

Sam grins. “Only because Cas came right away when Dean called him once—after he’d been ignoring me.”

“When was this?”

“Oh, years ago.”

“And you’re still not over it?”

“Never.”

“Good. I respect a man who can hold a grudge.”

He snorts. “Except against yourself.”

“I didn’t ask for your forgiveness, remember? Just because you decided to get all maudlin after you beat the crap out of me—”

Ouch! Fuck, that’s Castiel elbowing my ribs. Metaphorically speaking, of course. And I know just what he wants, damn him.

I roll my eyes as I turn my attention back to Sam. “But I, uh, did promise my Jiminy Cricket here that I would accept your forgiveness graciously.”

Now Sam looks incredulous. “Really?”

“Well, no. I didn’t actually spell it out like that. But I think that’s what he expects. And I might have, ah, sort of implied that I would. So is this the part where I fall at your feet in gratitude?”

“Please don’t. But I’ll tell you what I want instead.”

Okay, I’m intrigued. “What?”

“Tell me how you did it.”

“Did what?”

“Dean and Cas. You made Destiel come true. Asexual Destiel, maybe, but still.”

“Aw, poor Sam. Upset that you weren’t in the room where it happened?”

He picks up on the _**Hamilton**_ reference without missing a beat. “Yes. So tell me how the sausage got made.”

“There’s precious little sausage in an ace relationship,” I remind him. “Besides, I can’t take credit. I didn’t do anything.”

“Seriously? Dude, I never thought they’d get this far. You must have done something.”

“You didn’t want me to do anything, remember? You wanted me to stay out of it.”

“That’s because—” He shuts up.

“Because why? You thought I’d fuck it up for them?”

He grins. “Well, yeah. And I wasn’t sure what either of them wanted. And usually interfering in someone else’s love life is a bad idea. And Dean can be—difficult. And Cas can be—awkward.”

“You realize that Castiel can hear every word we’re saying, right?”

Sam’s face turns red. Which is the most adorable thing ever. “Sorry, Cas.”

“He’s not offended. I just wanted to see you blush.”

“Why?”

“Good question.” I can’t tell him that I like the heightened color to his cheeks, so I shrug instead. “Making the Winchesters squirm is a force of habit, I suppose.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Anyway, nothing happened for years, and all of the sudden they’re together?”

“I might have encouraged Castiel to, ah, move things along. But don't underestimate my brother.”

He holds up his hands, as if to admit defeat. “All right all right. However it happened, I'm glad it did.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you so happy for them?”

Sam gives me a confused look. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Things might get messy from here. Dean's still got issues to work through. Castiel might push him for more than he's willing to give.”

“Luce, if their friendship survived the Leviathan thing, and Dean throwing Cas out of the bunker, and the Mark of Caine thing, and—no offense—Cas letting you possess him the first time around, it can survive a messy break-up. I mean, I don’t think that’ll happen, but even if it does, they’ll be okay.”

Actually, I agree with him. “All right. I’ll bow to your optimism.”

“Good. Now let's talk about African Dream root.”

“There's nothing to talk about. No need for you to touch the stuff. Castiel and I will rescue Noah’s brother from—from whatever the Men of Letters and this Order of his are doing to him.”

“Well, we are going to touch the stuff. But, yeah, we do need more details from Noah first. And we all need to meet at some point today. A few more hours and hopefully everyone will be up.” He pauses to close his laptop. “Want to go grab a bite while we wait?”

“What about Noah? Is he handcuffed somewhere?”

“Yeah, in my room. I’ll let him use the bathroom and stuff now, then move him to Dean’s room for a bit. And we can bring him back some food.”

This is a terrible idea. I was just out with Dean. No need to go out again. Especially alone with Sam.

I put my feet back down on the floor. “You’re inviting me out to eat? Like old friends? Taking this forgiveness thing a bit far, aren’t you?”

“We’re trying to reform you, remember?”

“By hanging out with me?” I scoff. “Crowley’s the one who’s desperate for a spot at the cool kids’ table, not me.”

Sam cocks his head at me. “You think Crowley sees me, Dean and Cas as the cool kids?”

“Oh yes. Especially Dean, of course.” I tap my fingers on the table as I think this through. “But he wants to hang with all of you, I think. To be part of your inner circle. But that desire is at war with his quest for power and sycophantic adoration. He doesn’t understand that he has to give up the latter in order to attain the former—tragic, really.”

“Huh.” Sam looks thoughtful. “I can’t argue any of that.”

“Yet here I am, part of this charmed inner circle. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. But you’re part of this inner circle because you saved my life—and because Chuck is crazy attached to you.”

“Fine, there are extenuating circumstances. But I can still lord it over Crowley with this next time I see him. Somehow I always seem to have what he wants.”

“Or you could grow up a little and give up lording it over anyone.”

“Anything’s possible." I try for a suggestive look. To discombobulate him, of course. "But you might have to take me more firmly in hand if you expect me to give that up.”

That doesn’t faze Sam. At all. “Take you in hand? I’ve heard you have a thing for dog collars.”

“Ah, back to Crowley. I already admitted that I overdid the puppy play. Still want to punish me for that? Or for . . . well, take your pick from the rest of my sins."

He grins yet again and shakes his head. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I already tempted Dean—offered to give him my safe word and everything—but he turned me down.”

“News flash: I’m not Dean.”

“I’m aware of that.” Dad help me, I’m aware.

Sam bites back a smile . . . and then changes the subject. “So you coming with me to the diner?”

No. A hundred times no. If I go with him, I’ll spend way too much time staring into those mutable eyes.

But the words spill out before I can stop them. “Sure. Why not?”


	25. Chapter 25

I climb into the shotgun seat of the Impala. Sam takes the driver seat, but he hesitates as he slides behind the wheel.

“You know what?” he asks.

What a stupid question. “No, I can’t dig around in your head without my grace and I can’t read your facial expressions without any contextual clues.”

He gives me a look. “Wow. You’re not being sarcastic. Dude, Cas is seriously rubbing off on you.”

“Shit.” Sam’s right. I took that question as literally as Castiel would have. What’s wrong with me? Why am I so far off my game?

Sam grins at my horrified expression, but has the decency to change the subject. “I’m in the mood for Tex-Mex. Sound good?”

I’m not actually hungry. I only said yes to this outing because—because why the fuck not? I’m capable of spending time with Sam Winchester without this idiot vessel getting a hard on for him. Totally capable.

“Tex-Mex will be fine.” Good. My voice sounds nice and even.

“Okay. The place I like is over in Smith Center. It’s maybe twenty minutes away? Why don’t you text Dean and my mom and tell them where we’re heading. Meanwhile—” he breaks off to set up his phone. He must have rigged up some way to play the music on it through the Impala’s speakers. “Here we go. _**Hamilton**_?”

“Sure.” I smile a little at the opening riff, allegedly inspired by a sound file of a creaking door. “You haven’t seen this yet, have you?”

“ _ **Hamilton**_?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, have I actually seen the play?”

“Yes, Sam. Have you seen _**Hamilton**_ on Broadway? Or on tour. That would count too.”

Sam shakes his head. “I wish. That’ll never happen.”

“Why not?”

“Luce, you’ve seen my life, right? It’s impossible.”

I shift so I can stare at him.

Sam hasn’t started driving yet—we’re still in the garage part of the Bunker—so he shifts too, waiting for my response.

“Yes, I have seen your life. I’ve seen you talk directly with God. I’ve watched you interact with angels and archangels and—how does the expression go?—all the company of heaven. Meanwhile, you live with your brother and the angel who pulled him out of hell. Oh, and your mother, who’s back from the dead. You keep company with demons and witches and . . . should I really keep going?”

“No. But—”

I laugh in his face. I can’t help it. “Sam, with all that, you think seeing a Broadway show is impossible? People who don’t hold regular conversations with me—you know, Satan—manage it all the time.”

“Right.” His eyes are serious now. “And if I had gone to law school, gotten married, stayed away from hunting—you know, the whole normal life thing—maybe I could have found a way to afford tickets. Hell, maybe I could have seen it in previews or something with the original cast. At least if I lived near Manhattan. But that’s not my life. Hunters don’t get to do normal stuff like that.”

I go back to staring at him.

Sam stares right back.

“Why do humans make their world so small?”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, first of all, you can’t judge every human being on the planet by me.”

“I don’t. Why would I? You’re the one I understand the least.”

“That makes no sense, since you’ve actually been inside me. Like, literally inside me. In my head, in my memories—everything.”

“Believe me, I know. And you’re still a mystery to me, Sam. You’re probably a mystery to everyone who knows you.”

“Why?”

“Because you always hold back.”

He shifts again, resting his elbow on the steering wheel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said.” I straighten up and lean back against my seat. “You keep a part of yourself locked away from everyone—even Dean.”

“All right.” He snorts. “In that sense, I am like most human beings on the planet. Most of us build walls, you know.”

I consider that. “True. Dean doesn’t, though.”

“Hello. This is Dean we’re talking about. You know how many issues he has?”

“Yes. Since I’ve been helping his relationship with Castiel along, I’ve gotten to know them in excruciating detail, thank you. But that doesn’t matter. He still loves you and Castiel and your mom with his whole heart. He doesn’t hold back.”

Sam is silent for a moment. “No,” he says at length. “I guess he doesn’t. But that makes him an extraordinary human being.”

“It does, probably. Of course, considering the species, that’s a low bar.”

“Hey, now.” Sam is chuckling, but then his voice turns serious again. “You’re more like Dean, aren’t you? You love your Father with your whole heart.”

“Sometimes. I used to hate Him with my whole heart too. And I’m not sure I’m over that. But, then, I hate you too.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Not you personally—I’m actually in charity with you and Dean at the moment. But I still hate humanity in general.”

“Because you think your Dad loves us more than He loves you.”

“No, because of what you’ve all done to my Dad’s creation—”

“No.” Sam shakes his head. “You don’t like us because of all the destruction we’ve brought to this planet—I’ll buy that. But you hate us because you’re jealous.”

“I hate you because my Father wanted us to put you first—even before Him. Even though you would tear his creation apart. Unmake it, even, with your nukes and your global warming.”

“We’re flawed, Lucifer. I know that. But you don’t have to be jealous of us. Look, Chuck wants you to be our guide, yeah. But that doesn’t mean He’s rejecting you. How can He? You’re His first born. You’re the one that He made out of that—that primordial light.”

His eyes have that awed look again. Strange—I mostly shielded him from that primordial light the one time I unleashed it in his presence. I had to, or he’d be dead. But the memory of it hasn’t faded for him.

I could leave this vessel to Castiel. I could be that primordial light again, full of grace. All I’d have to do is give up earth. Which would mean giving up Sam Winchester.

Wait, that’s not the reason I’m torturing myself down here. It’s creation I care about, not Sam. When Sam’s dead and buried—or burned, like a hunter—I’ll still want to be here.

“Lucifer?”

“What?” I snap the word out so hard that Sam comes close to flinching.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head again, still not intimidated. “It’s just the way you’re looking at me right now—dude, I can’t tell if you want to kill me or fuck me.”

I grunt. “A little of both.”

“Well, even if you could overpower me without your grace—which is doubtful—Cas is not going to let you kill me. And, trust me, fucking is actually really uncomfortable in this car.”

“Come on, Sam. I thought you were willing to lie back and think of England for a chance to seduce me into better behavior.”

“I would if I thought it really worked like that. But not in the Impala.”

“Fine. What’s it to be? A hotel room or the Tex-Mex?”

He bites back another smile. “We’d better stick with Tex-Mex. I’m not ready to explain to Dean that you and me fucked around while you were in Cas’s vessel.”

Sam has a point. So I keep my mouth shut as he pulls out of the garage and heads toward Smith Center.


	26. Chapter 26

We don’t talk much at the restaurant. Not at first. Sam just gazes down at the menu without actually reading it. He’s lost in thought over—actually, who the hell can guess what he’s thinking about? His hair, for all I know. He looks like he uses more product than Rowena.

As for me . . . I’m concentrating on not thinking too much about Sam. All right, all right. I want to fuck him, yes. But that doesn’t mean he’s anything more than a barbaric, destructive ape who’s ultimately unworthy of my attention. Or my Father’s.

Sam raises his eyebrows from across the table. “You know what you want?”

“You.” I don’t stop to think about it. I just say it.

“Excuse me?”

“You. Preferably naked and submissive.”

He gives me a look. “Yeah, not happening.”

“Any of it? Or just the submissive part?”

Sam chokes back a laugh. “Well, I’m definitely not into dominance games.”

“You’re also not taking this seriously.”

“Wait.” He puts down the menu. “Are you saying—Lucifer, are you, uh, actually into me?”

I pause to consider that. “I can’t claim to like you, exactly. But you’re the most interesting ape around, and I want to fuck you blind.”

Sam just stares at me.

“Or you can fuck me blind—I’m not actually particular on that point.”

“Um, okay. Wow.” He blinks, leans back and runs his hand through his presumably product-enhanced hair. “So you actually are not kidding right now.”

“No.”

“Right. Ah, I, uh . . . Lucifer, I don’t think you and me are exactly ideal dating material for each other.”

My turn to blink. “Who’s talking about dating?”

“So you just want to be fuck-buddies? So much for all your ‘I’d reform for you’ talk.”

“That was me joking. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I’ll at least pretend to reform so I can get you into bed and out of my system.”

There’s a weird look in his eyes now. It’s . . . I don’t know how to describe it, actually. Part gentle and part dark and part . . . I don’t know what the other part is. “Talk to me when you reform for real.”

I cock my head at him. “That doesn’t sound like a promise.”

“It isn’t.”

“So you expect me to reform just because maybe you’ll sleep with me?”

Sam shrugs. “No point even talking about it before then. Besides, you’ve got plenty more reasons, Luce. You want to stick around on earth, right?”

“I want the ability to come and go as I please.”

“Which means you need your juice back. And your Dad’s holding it hostage, pending your behavior. Remember?”

I make a show of staring down at my vessel. The one I currently share with Castiel, who has control of all my ‘juice’ at the moment. “Trust me. I did not forget.” 

“Good.” He turns back to the menu. 

“Are you just worried about what Dean will think? Because of me sharing Castiel’s vessel?”

“That, uh, adds another layer of weirdness. But I’m not worried about it, because I’m not about to sleep with a mass-murdering psychopath.”

“Even if I reform, I’d probably still fit your definition of a psychopath. I can resist the urge to slaughter you humans in order to appease my Father. But don’t expect me to emphasize with any of you.”

“I don’t care if you fake that part,” Sam says, looking up again. “The empathy, I mean. But you have to do better than just not slaughtering us.”

“So you don’t care what’s in my heart?” 

“No. I only care about how you act. But I know what you really are, Lucifer. I got a taste of that primordial light for myself. You should be protecting and guiding us. That’s your true nature.”

Fuck that. He doesn’t know me at all. “I want more than a maybe.”

“No.”

“If you expect me to act as if I actually give a damn about you apes—”

“You’re supposed to be doing that anyway! That’s the whole point of you being human right now!”

“I’m not human right now." I speak slowly, so this idiot can understand all the words. "I’m an angel—an archangel—stuck in a human vessel without access to my grace.”

“And that’s totally different?”

“Completely different.”

“Doesn’t change why you’re here.”

“Possibly not. But I still want a guarantee.”

“No.”

I lean toward him. “Sam, are you telling me you’re not in the least intrigued?"

He is. No, he doesn't say so, but I know him. All right, not entirely. This is Sam, after all, who manages to hide his cards even from me. But I've been inside his brain. I can tell this much, at least. 

"I know this vessel isn’t your usual style," I continue, "but you’re an open-minded guy. And I wouldn’t be the first psychopath you ever fucked. Does the name ‘Ruby’ ring any bells?”

“Yeah.” He glances away long enough to snort. “And I remember exactly how well that worked out.”

“Sam—”

“Read your menu, Luce. We don’t have all day here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have not abandoned this story! Just took a much longer sabbatical than I anticipated.


End file.
